History Repeats It's Tragedy
by ebmordecai
Summary: There once was an outline for a three part book by GRRM that spoke of a tortured love, but it never got told and was changed into the Game of Thrones we know and love today. This is my version of that outline, a story of love, loss, betrayal, choices and sacrifice. And I regret nothing by writing this story!
1. Chapter 1

**There once was an outline for a three part book that never got told and was changed into the Game of Thrones we know and love today. This is my version of that outline, a story of love, loss, betrayal, choices and sacrifice. And I regret nothing by writing this story! Enjoy!**

Winterfell loomed before her as the dark sky gave way to the first rays of morning. Six days, she had been riding. Six days without barely any sleep, and for one moment Arya Stark feared she was hallucinating the vision of her home.

It was not in ruins as she had heard years ago. It stood tall and true, with a new king behind it's doors. Jon Snow. He was King of the North if the rumors were to be believed. Arya did not understand how, but she hoped against hope the rumors were true.

Even as the feeling of exhaustion threatened to consume her mind, body and soul, Arya kicked the horse forward. Six years of death and loss brought **her** to this moment, to the doorstep of her home.

She was not the same naive girl who had left with her father for King's Landing. She was a battle hardened, broken shadow of her former self. Yet, in that moment all she wanted was her old room and her old bed.

The snow fell around her in large swirls and flakes, slapping her cold skin and blinding her way. She knew where to go…towards home.

Winterfell's great walls grew taller the closer she came, as if begging her to go faster. Would anyone be awake to greet her? Would Jon be there? Or Sansa? Maybe Bran and Rickon had made their way home. The longer she thought of her family the more desperate she felt.

"Faster," she whispered to the horse.

The beast whined and fought against Arya's pleas. Suddenly, the horse knelt down, throwing Arya from her seat. She hit the ground and rolled to a stop, yet she could not force her battered body to go any further.

The ground was hard and cold beneath her as she twisted her body to look upon Winterfell. She was so close, so close to being safe for the first time in years. Slowly turning on her stomach, she dug her fingers into the cold ground moving inch by inch. She would do this as long as it took for her to stand again. The one thing she could not do was stop.

When her fingers turned bloody, and her skin broken, she rose to her knees. The sky above her turned blue and orange in the rising of the sun. She was so close that the shadows of Winterfell walls were within her reach.

"Come on," she ground out, her teeth clenched.

Getting to her feet took all the strength she had left within her. She steadied her shaking legs before taking the first step. The moment her left foot came down on solid ground she almost fell. Arya knew if she hit the ground again she would remain there. The snow would kill her in a matter of hours…winter had come at last.

One step. Then another. Then another. One by one, she took small steps towards the gates of her home. Arya wished she felt strength from such a sight as Winterfell, but that could not be farther from the truth.

"What business do you have before these gates?"

The voice came from above her, and Arya slowly raised her face to see the soldier with his arrow pointed at her chest. In fact, there were several soldiers with their deadly weapons drawn on her. Of course, they would not let her just walk in. She could not imagine the site she must be.

"I—I'm…"

Arya staggered back, her legs shaking worse than before. She was not going to make it. As soon as the thought crossed here mind her body gave in. Arya hit the snow covered earth without feeling a thing. Was this what it felt like to die? Her eyes stared up into the sky imagining her father and mother's face. She imagined seeing Robb again. She would be with Gendry again. It was such a lovely thought, but the next face she saw grounded her to the living world.

Jon.

He was so close, just behind those walls, and if she would just push a little longer he would be before her in the flesh.

"Arya… Arya S—Stark!" she said, as loud as she could.

She was not sure if they heard her, but the moment one of the guards yelled for the gates to be opened she felt like crying. They had heard her.

"Wake the King!"

Hands gently grabbed her arms and legs. She watched as the gates went by over head. They brought her inside Winterfell, taking her straight to the Great Hall. A woman she did not recognize had begun to start a fire, and the moment Arya felt the heat against her frozen skin she felt like crying.

They sat her in a chair before the fire, wrapping one blanket after the other over her shaking form. She closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scents of her home. Her body was weakened, but her mind was sharp. They placed something hot in her hands and helped her raise it to her lips. She drank it so fast she did not know what it was, but the hot contents soothed her throat and stomach. Arya opened her mouth to thank the men, but the door to the Great Hall burst open and she swallowed her words.

"Your Grace," the men around her said, bowing their heads.

"Where is she…"

His words died in his throat, but there was no denying the owner of that voice. She had thought of him all these years, and after losing Gendry it was Jon's image, his voice inside her head, that kept her going. Now, she was hearing him with her own ears.

Arya turned to look behind her and there Jon stood. He was like a statue, frozen in time. His eyes were wide, his mouth half open as if he were struggling to breathe. He had changed so much, yet not at all. There was a tiredness behind his dark eyes she had never seen there before. No matter the changes he was still her Jon.

"Jon," she whispered, barely able to speak his name, barely able to believe he was there.

His face crumbled into one of emotions so raw. She felt as if she were eavesdropping on such an intimate moment, that she should look away, but she would not dare take her eyes off him for fear that he would disappear.

Arya forced herself to stand. Her body screamed and fought her with every move, but she ignored the pain. She only took one step before her body locked up and she stumbled. Bracing herself for the impact, she felt arms catch her. Jon was there before anyone could react, and he crushed her to his chest.

For the first time in six years, Arya closed her eyes and let go of her fear and loneliness. She wrapped her shaking arms around his neck, his scent blanketing every corner of her universe. He leaned away, gently grabbing the sides of her face and staring at her wonder.

"You're alive," he said, low and reverent.

"You're real," Arya said, back.

Through the tears in his eyes a smile graced his features. It grew until it covered every part of his face, and the laughter that rang from him sounded sweet to her ears. He leaned in, placing his lips upon her forehead and remaining there for what seemed like an eternity. Arya did not mind in the least. She held on to him as if he were the last lifeline she had.

"Take Arya to her room. She needs rest. Have warm mead and hot soup sent up immediately," Jon commanded.

"Your Grace, are those not your rooms now?" one of his men asked.

"We will worry about my dwellings later. I have no plans to sleep any time soon," Jon responded, never taking his eyes off Arya.

His men bowed and left to do as their king commanded. Jon stood to his feet bringing Arya with him. She gave him an apologetic smile, for he had to bear the brunt of her weight. Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her from the Great Hall. She rested her head against his chest finally allowing the exhaustion to take her. She was safe.

 **More to come. This will be a long story and as we go along it will be a bumpy angst-filled ride. For any of you that know of the outline I speak of you can kind of get the understanding of what will happen, but there will be changes as this this my interpretation. Get those reviews ready!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much for the reviews! You guys rock. GRRM owns everything. I own my cell phone I'm writing this story on! Enjoy.**

Arya slowly opened her eyes, coming awake in her bed. It had been six long years since she had slept that good. She looked around a room that was both familiar and fore

ign to her. Not much had changed. Her featherbed felt just as soft as she remembered. Everything was kept in its place. The only difference was now it smelled of Jon. Winter forest and snow assaulted her nose as she took a deep, long breath.

When she wiped the sleep from her eyes she noticed she wasn't alone. Jon lay in a chair right beside her bed. His head lay propped in his hand as he slept. Arya was able to really study him after such a long time away from him.

His hair was much shorter and pulled back. Arya could not remember a time she had seen his black locks so tamed. She had a clear view of his face, which looked so young, as he slept peacefully. His lips were slightly parted as he snored softly. She smiled, but her smile did not last long.

There were scars on his handsome face, scars that had not been there the last time she had seen him. What had his life been like at the Wall? Perhaps she would ask him. It was possible his road had been as rocky and dangerous as her own.

Had Jon slept beside her in the chair this whole time? And how much time had passed? Her body felt stronger, though her stomach screamed for food. When she thought about it she realized she was starving.

Arya sat up in bed, trying not to make a sound and disturb Jon. As she scooted towards the edge of the bed her door slowly crept open. She stopped, looking up at her visitor and felt a swell of emotions at the face staring back at her. Sansa gave her a small smile, raising her finger to her lips to keep Arya silent.

"Meet me at the Godswood when you're dressed," Sansa whispered, disappearing out of the door. Arya glanced at Jon seeing that he had not moved a muscle. He remained sleeping.

She climbed from the bed and tip-toed passed him and out the door. Once from the room, she took off. Arya ignored the stares as she passed the inhabitants within Winterfell. They all stopped what they were doing, staring at their lost princess. Some bowed as she passed, while others looked on with curious glances.

When Arya made it to the courtyard she slowed her movements. The Godswood was just ahead of her. Taking a long breath, she entered. Sansa stood in front of the large Weirwood tree her father used to pray to. Her sister had changed, even more than Jon. Gone was the little girl and in her place stood a tall, regal woman.

Arya stopped just short of standing at her sister's side. The last memory she had of Sansa was not the greatest, but that had been a lifetime ago. Still, she felt like that same little kid in the shadow of her sister. Looking at Sansa's profile, Arya realized she had turned into the woman her parents had longed for her to be. Her beauty was unmatched.

Sansa turned her eyes towards Arya, a small smile growing upon her face. "Hello, Arya," she said, softly.

"Hello, Sansa," Arya said, her throat raw with thirst.

The girls stared at one another without making a move for what felt like forever. Arya wanted to throw her arms around her sister, yet she kept herself at an arm's distance. She had done horrible things to Sansa growing up. Had her sister forgiven her as she had forgiven Sansa for the wrong she did to her? Were the tears in her sister's eyes a product of her happiness to have Arya back, or were they hurtful tears? Arya was still in her musing when Sansa let out a small cry and threw her arms around her.

Arya was so caught off guard she froze, but the sound of Sansa crying broke through her jumbled thoughts, and before her father's favorite tree she wrapped her arms around her sister and gave in to her own emotions.

It did not matter what had happened in the past. It did not matter what ill thoughts and emotions the two girls had for one another. All of those things had melted away through the nightmare of their journey. She needed Sansa as much as she needed the air to breathe. She was her blood, her link to her lost family.

"I'm here, now, Sansa. I'm here," she whispered in her sisters ear, causing Sansa to hug her tighter. It had been years since she had cried, yet this was the second time in days that the tears ran freely down her cheeks. She felt no embarrassment by her public show of emotions.

"I'm so sorry, Arya. For the person I was, for the brat I used to be. I treated you horribly."

Arya shook her head. Their sour treatment of one another had always gone both ways. All those yeara ago Arya could not understand how Sansa conformed to the mold everyone thought she should be, and she resented her sister for her perfection and for the love she received from everyone. Arya had been ate up with jealousy.

"It doesn't matter anymore. Those two girls are buried and gone. There's been too much death, too much suffering, to hold on to the anger of children."

They stood in each other's embrace for what seemed like the entire day. Not much was said between them, just watery smiles and a brokenness they both felt.

"I truly believed Joffrey was going to let father live. I was so blind."

Her soft confession filled the air around them with sadness. They sat before the hot spring under the shelter of the Weirwood tree. Arya was thrown back to the day her father died, the day the crowd cheered as an innocent man's blood soaked the concrete.

"Someone like Joffrey could never have shown compassion," Arya said, bitterly.

Sansa nodded her head in agreement. "He got what he deserved in the end, though."

Arya looked towards her sister, surprised to hear the hatred in her words. Sansa's eyes were dark and brooding as she stared into the hot spring's water. Her sister no longer was a brittle flower but hardened steel. She could see the power Sansa now carried within her.

"What happened to you?" Arya said, not meaning to speak her words aloud.

Sansa raised her eyes and stared directly at Arya, not flinching away from her sister's question. "I was shown the truth about this world, Arya. I was shown that the dreams of a little girl are just that…dreams. The real world is much more harsh, and if you don't learn to play by the world's rules you die."

"Or you make your own rules," Arya added, smiling.

At first, Sansa only stared at her sister, allowing her words to soak in, but soon she joined in with a smile of her own.

"They tried to destroy our family, Sansa, but they made the mistake of allowing us to live. Winter has come, and winter will come for them all, I swear it!"

Sansa's smile slowly disappeared. "Things have changed, Arya. When Jon is ready he will fill you in on what has happened."

Arya looked confused over her sister's words. One minute Sansa looked like a warrior queen, but now she looked scared again. "Jon is King of the North…how? He left the Night's Watch. We know the penalty of that all too well."

"That, too, is something he will speak to you about. It is his story to tell."

"She's right.." Arya and Sansa turned to see Jon walking towards them. He took a seat beside Arya and told her every bloody, violent detail of the past six years. She hung on his every word, feeling every betrayal and heartbreak. When he told her of the mutiny of his brothers Arya felt her blood grow cold. Sansa excused herself, promising to meet back up with Arya later that night.

"She doesn't like to hear the story," Jon said, as if to explain her sudden departure.

Arya could understand that completely. To hear what had been done to him was like having the same done to herself.

"I felt every knife slide into my flesh, felt the warm blood pour out of me. I was in denial about what was happening. I had fought beside these men, and they were plunging a knife into my chest."

Arya reached out and took Jon's hand, holding it tightly in her own. She could still hear the pain in his voice, the betrayal still raw.

"But, you sit here beside me, just as alive as I am. How?" Arya asked.

"A red witch brought me back," he said, laughing without humor. "She was traveling with Stannis Baratheon. When he was defeated trying to take our home back from the Boltons she came back to the Wall for refuge. I guess you can say she was in the right place at the right time. I have to admit, though, there is a part of me that wishes she would have never brought me back."

Arya felt the air dissipate from her lungs at a rate that left her head spinning. The Godswood melted away. The Weirwood tree and Jon disappeared and she was thrown back to a day when her life had truly taken a turn for the worse.

Gendry was pulled away from her by two guardsmen as the Red Witch looked on with a knowing smile. Arya had reached for him, but the men made quick work of her. She was pushed aside like the weakling she had been that day as they dragged him to the carriage cart.

She would never forget the look in Gendry's eyes. She would never forget him staring at her, laying his true feelings out for her to see. He had loved her, for how long she wasn't sure, but she could see it in his blue eyes. The way his face crumbled in the knowledge he would never see her again. Arya had just stood there that day, watching the carriage roll away and out of sight. In that moment she had realized she had loved him back. She had loved him all that time.

"Melisandre?" Arya whispered the name from her list.

Jon turned towards her in surprise, his eyes growing wide. "How did you…"

"She killed someone I cared about." Arya could say no more, for she felt the tears pricking at her eyes. Jon reached for her face. He gently pulled her face to look at him and she did so willingly. His look spoke of loss as well, as if he knew what she was feeling. It had been a while since Arya allowed herself to feel the loss of Gendry. It had been a while since she allowed herself to understand that he was dead. She was not a fool. Arya had known Melisandre had every intentions of killing him when she took him away.

"I sent her away, Arya. She did something vile and I could not allow her to stay. You will never have to look upon that woman again, I promise."

"Pity. I would not have minded having a chat with her just one last time," Arya said, a single tear running down her cheek.

Jon looked taken aback by her statement, but he recovered quickly. His hand remained on her cheek, his thumb rubbing small circles into her cold flesh. She found his touch soothed the beast within her. His eyes stared at her own, as if searching the deepest parts of her soul.

Jon had always been different. She cared for him above all others, even in her own family. Every other thought about her life had left her at one point or the other but not Jon. He had remained a constant figure in the background of the horrors she faced. It had been his memory, his gift of Needle, that kept her from losing herself completely. Perhaps one day she would share that with him. She knew he would like to hear it.

"What was their name? The one Melisandre killed?" Arya swallowed before answering. She had not said his name in years. Did she have the strength to say it now?

"Ge—Gendry," Arya said, her chest tightening.

Jon pulled Arya towards him, wrapping his arms around her. She put up no fight, but allowed him to hold her as her heart waged war. Her thoughts were on a boy who had left this world too young, who had protected her and vice versa. Arya grabbed the front of Jon's shirt, squeezing the fabric inside her hand, desperate to stop drowning in the memory of Gendry.

Arya heard someone crying, realizing the sobs were coming from her own mouth. Gendry was the first boy she had ever loved, but he never felt as if he were good enough. He had always good enough.

Jon lightly placed kisses atop Arya's head, allowing her to purge her pain onto him. He soothed her softly, telling her over and over she was safe.

"I'll never let anything hurt you again, I promise this," he whispered over and over. Arya knew that promise was in vain, she had seen enough of this world to know, but coming from Jon she allowed herself to believe him…even if only for this brief moment.

The longer Jon held her and talked softly of his pledge of protection The memory of Gendry began to fade. Her lost boy, her friend and love, was once again tucked away in his box in her mind. She locked it tightly, determined not to open it again. He was gone and no amount of magic could change it. Instead, she focused on Jon's voice. She focused on his hands rubbing her back and his lips in her hair.

She let out a shuttered breath, allowing his love to fill her broken heart. "I know what it feels like, Arya. Your heart aches to see them one more time, even if it's only a breath of a moment. You would give anything to touch them, but you know that will never happen. This boy you lost will stay with you forever, there's no changing that. But, you're still here, still alive, and you have to keep going. It's okay to miss them. It's okay to feel that pain, but never let it consume you."

"What was her name?" Arya asked him in return. There was no denying he spoke from experience.

For a long while, there was no answer. Arya thought she had misjudged Jon's sadness, but he finally answered her.

"Ygritte." Arya closed her eyes, realizing that both her and Jon had experienced the same loss. "She died in my arms," he added, whispering.

Arya tightened her hold on him, pouring all of her love into him just to ease his heartache. They were shadows of their former selves, left in this world with battered hearts.

"We have each other, right?" Arya asked him, needing an assurance he would not leave her too.

"Forever," he answered, kissing her forehead.

They sat by the hot spring as the snow fell down around them. Jon held Arya's hand, both of them needing to feel a connection to something living. He talked to her about the Wall and of Samwell Tarly. He told her how they had won back Winterfell from Ramsey Bolton, and how the Northmen and Wildlings alike had named him their king. All the while, she hung to his every word. A feeling of peace washed over her, a peace she had not felt since the day she left this place as a child.

"You will be a good king, Jon. You'll be someone I would be honored to follow."

He smiled a real smile, his eyes dancing in the light of the sun. She, again, thought of how handsome he truly was. She had never noticed as a child, but she no longer was a child.

"I'll need your help, Arya **.** I'll need you by my side."

"You never had to ask that of me. I'm by your side, now and always," she said.

"Jon…Arya."

Both Jon and Arya turned to the sound of Sansa calling to them. It seemed the day was not done giving up it's surprises. Beside Sansa sat someone she had heard was long in his grave, yet there he sat.

"Bran?" Arya said, her world tilting on its axis once again.

 **Many of you have had questions about if this will be (Arya x Gendry) or (Arya x Jon). I wish I could answer this question for you, but that would give some things away. I will say this…it will be complicated. Continue to read and all will be revealed as we go along. I will say this I am a diehard Gendrya fan, but I'm fascinated by the outline GRRM had for GOT originally. I've been fighting this story for months now, but I want to write it. I hope y'all enjoy. Get those reviews coming!**


	3. Chapter 3

Arya rose to her feet, her eyes wide in shock. Bran sat beside Sansa in a makeshift wheelchair. Gone was the small little boy who used to climb the walls of Winterfell until that fateful day he was pushed from the highest window. A man now sat staring at her and Jon with a small smile playing upon his lips. Jon moved first, rushing towards Bran and falling to his knees before him.

"A king doesn't kneel, Your Grace," Bran said.

Even his voice had changed from what Arya remembered. Time had seemed to change them all. Jon threw his arms around Bran, letting out a small cry. Could it finally be that the Stark fortune had turned?

Bran turned his eyes towards Arya, who found herself frozen in place. It was that moment she realized his eyes had changed as well. There was wisdom there so deep it took her breath away. He looked at her, yet it was as if he was looking through her. She felt opened, vulnerable in his presence.

"Hello, Arya," he said, softly.

Jon let him go, leaning back and turning towards Arya. She took a step towards him, and then another, until she fell beside Jon and wrapped her arms around her brother.

"Hello, Bran," she whispered, feeling the emotions threatening to consume her. Just days ago she had been alone, but that had changed. She had Jon. She had Sansa. She had Bran. She had…

Arya leaned back, searching the godswood around them. Someone was missing, someone who should have been with Bran.

Rickon.

"Where's Rickon?" she asked.

There was a shift in the air as the Stark siblings remained silent. She looked at each of their faces and saw the same look. Sadness. There were no words needed to answer her question.

"His body rests in the crypts beside Father," Bran said.

"During the battle with Ramsey Bolton Rickon was killed. I—I tried to save him, but I could not get to him in time," Jon added.

Arya closed her eyes, another Stark dead, another hole in her heart. Rickon was too young, too pure, for this world. While he rotted in the crypts beside her noble father someone as lethal as herself continued to breathe. The unfairness of that was hard to understand.

"Bran, you must be tired. I will have the fire lit in your rooms, so you can rest," said Sansa.

He did not respond, but turned his attention towards Jon. Arya watched Bran, watched his eyes search for something in Jon's face.

"I have the gift of visions. I can see everything and everyone from the past to the future. My visions are only in pieces and I need to be able to control them when the war comes. I am the Three Eyed Raven now."

This got Jon's attention, his eyes growing wide at Bran's words. "The Three Eyed Raven is a myth, Bran."

Bran did not flinch at Jon's lack of belief. As Arya watched Bran closer she realized he did not have much of a look at all. He looked as if caught in a daydream, as if caught in a world that only he could see.

"You had no choice but to kill Olly. What they did to you that night was mutiny, Your Grace." Jon stood to his feet, his eyes growing wide, but Bran was not finished. "Kill the boy, Jon Snow, and let the man be born. Are you ready for the truth? Are you ready to do what must be done when the Long Night reaches us?"

"What truth?" Jon asked, his voice barely audible.

Instead of answering him, Bran turned slowly towards Arya. She felt the hairs prickle at the back of her neck when their eyes met. If he were telling the truth, what had he seen her do? Suddenly, she felt a great desire to flee the godswood, to escape her brother's knowing look.

"Eyes have looked their last in your presence, dear sister. But, you could not fully do what was required of you, could you not?" Bran's voice was quiet, yet the punch it packed took the breath straight from Arya's lungs. "You forgot us all…all but one. Not even the armorer's apprentice could bring you back. It was the gift you could not do away with, his smile, that kept Arya Stark from disappearing completely. The Long Night is approaching and you have a role to play, but your choices will not be easy."

Arya took a step away from Bran, looking towards the exit back towards Winterfell. She needed to escape, needed to leave before the truth of her past was laid out for all to bear witness. She was not ready for them to know what she had been doing. She worried she would see fear in her family's eyes at the blood upon her hands.

Without a word, Arya walked away from her siblings. Jon called to her, but she dared not turn around. She walked through the courtyard, ignoring the stares and bows. She was losing control of her emotions, of her anger and pain. She needed somewhere dark and quiet.

Without thinking, Arya took the steps down to the crypts two at a time, until she found herself staring up at her father's stony face. It looked nothing like him, nothing like the man who could make her forget her fears when he held her. It looked nothing like the man who had been larger than life to a small girl who knew nothing of the cruelty of the world she lived in.

Bran had been right. She had forgotten them all. She had forgotten her murdered father and mother. She had forgotten her murdered brother. She had even forgotten Gendry for a while. The only one she allowed herself to even remember was Jon. She could not do away with Needle that day beside the water. She had held the small blade in her hands, shaking.

Jon had given this to me, she had thought.

Bran had been correct. Needle had represented Jon, and she had not had the courage to allow the blade to fall from her hands. That had saved Arya in more ways than one.

"Are you alright?" Jon's quiet voice floated towards Arya, causing her to wince. "Will you talk to me?" he asked. She watched him raise his hand towards her, wanting her to trust him enough to unload her dark secrets.

"What was Bran talking about with the Long Night?" Arya asked, having questions of her own.

Jon kept his hand outstretched towards her as he took a step closer. "Seems we both have things to discuss. Arya, I need to know where you've been all of this time. What happened to you. We can discuss anything, you know that, right?"

Arya smiled, though the smile held no warmth or humor. "It's not a pretty story, Jon. I did what I had to do to survive."

His hand dropped as he cut the distance between them. His hand came up and gently grabbed the side of her face. He raised her eyes to meet his, giving her a small smile. "Then, whatever you tell me I will be thankful for it, for it kept you alive and brought you back to me."

"And what if you're not thankful? What of you turn me away?" she whispered.

"Trust me," he whispered back.

At the foot of her father's statue she told Jon every long and bloody detail of her journey starting the day Ned died. Jon sat beside her, not one time interrupting her, but allowed her to talk for as long as she needed. By the time she was done, Arya laid her head on his arm, feeling exhausted, but also feeling good that someone knew the things she had experienced. Jon laid his cheek upon her head, taking a deep, long breath.

"If I could have spared you from even one moment of all of that I would have done so. I would have broken my vows to do so."

"You would have been killed as a deserter, Jon. I don't regret the journey I've been on. I needed to walk that path to become who I am today. Different roads lead to the same castle," Arya said, smiling in the darkness.

They were silent for a while, sitting among the dead. Her aunt Lyanna's statue stood before her. She had been betrothed to Robert Baratheon, but was taken in the dead of night by Rhaegar Targaryen. That one act had caused a rebellion, which had taken the lives of many people, Lyanna and Rhaegar among them. But, father never talked about her. Not one time could Arya ever remember her father speaking his sister's name, as if the very act caused him physical pain. What little she knew of her aunt she heard from others and their stories.

"Bran is keeping something from me. He spoke of a truth I needed to know, yet he will not tell me. After you left, he told me the time for me to know had not come yet. He's…changed."

"Haven't we all?" Arya asked, softly.

Jon sighed, "Yes, I guess we have."

At the mention of Bran Arya remembered something he had said, something that caused her blood to run cold. She turned to Jon, needing to see his face as he answered her. There was very little light in the crypts, but she could see his eyes.

"Bran spoke of the Long Night. That is just a myth, Jon…right?"

Jon closed his eyes for a moment, as of not wanting to broach this subject with her. When he looked at her again, she could see a distant fear in his eyes, something she had never seen in his look before that moment.

"I wish I could tell you it was, Arya. But I have seen the Army of The Dead with my own eyes. Even now, they march towards the Wall. I'm doing everything I can to join the North to fight them, but to get people to believe me is an entire fight of its own. I have the Wildlings on my side, for they have seen them as well. Winter has come."

Arya was speechless, her mind reeling. She had no cause to doubt Jon, but what he was saying could not possibly be true. The Long Night was just a story old people like Nan told little children to scare them. The Army of The Dead was impossible. Impossible, like wearing someone's else's face as your own for instance? Or watching a Red Priest resurrect a dead man? Or a woman that had hatched three dragons? There had always been magic in this world, but an army of dead walkers was a little much.

"You don't believe me," Jon said, more as a statement than a question.

"I don't know what to believe," she answered, truthfully.

"I've never lied to you, Arya, not about anything. Not you. I am not lying about this, either. I have fought them, lost to them, and ran as fast as I could away from them. I've seen the Night's King resurrect the dead with a single jester of his hands in the air. I've stared into his eyes and saw darkness and cold. Even if no one believed me they are still coming. They are the real enemy."

There was no denying the fear in his voice, the passion in his eyes as he talked of the Night's King and the Army of The Dead. Jon believed every word he spoke, which was all that was needed to convince Arya that he was telling the truth. Jon was right, he had never lied to her.

"I believe you," she whispered.

He looked surprised at first, as if he assumed it would take more than his word to convince her. "Arya, I want so much to protect you, Sansa and Bran from what is to come, but…"

"You can't protect us, Jon. And I need no protecting. Whatever comes, whatever waits for us, I'll be right beside you to face it."

His face fell, as if what she said hurt him. Jon wanted to shield her, as he had always done, from danger, but she was more capable than most to deal with danger. But, did that include the walking dead? Yes, she assumed, it included even them.

Silence consumed them again, yet they kept their eyes on one another. Arya felt something move deep within her as she stared into his dark eyes. Those were eyes she had dreamed of every day since parting ways with Jon. The crypts around them melted away until only the man beside her remained. Jon looked as though he was feeling the same things she was feeling, but what exactly was she feeling? There had always been a bond between them, a bond no one had the power to break. They were as shadows, moving in sync with each other. Even their lives mirrored the other.

"Arya…" Jon whispered, though his voice sounded far off. He leaned towards her, coming to within inches of her face. Arya remained as still as stone, watching his eyes grow darker, two dark pools of night.

"Your Grace, supper has been prepared," a servant called to them, breaking the hold Arya found herself under.

Jon leaned back abruptly, coming to himself again. She saw his eyes grow wide for a fraction of a moment before stumbling to his feet and taking a few steps away from her. Arya never looked away from him, all the while trying to figure out what had just happened. He turned and left her without another word.

Arya waited a while longer before rising to her feet and heading for the Great Hall. She had felt something in the few seconds Jon held her eyes with his, a stirring within her, yet she dared not dwell upon what that stirring was. She could not deny that for just that moment she felt alive again, felt a fire burn within her. A fire she feared had been extinguished long ago. Shaking the thoughts from her head, Arya went to join the others.

Sansa motioned her over to take a seat beside her, Bran and Jon at the large table in the front of the room. It was the same table she had seen her parents dine on when she was younger, yet she had never been invited to sit with them. Things had changed, and now she was a princess of Winterfell. When she took her seat between Sansa and Bran, she stole a glance at Jon. He was in deep discussion with someone Arya did not recognize.

"That is Sir Davos Seaworth, one of Jon's most trusted advisors. The man sitting beside him is Tormund Giantsbane. He is a Wildling, and a close friend," Sansa said, low. She began going around the room, pointing people out and telling Arya who they were and which House they belonged to. House Stark had won back the loyalty of every House in the North with Jon's rise to King.

"That is…"

"Brienne of Tarth," Arya finished. The two had met before, on the road, the day the Hound was defeated at the woman's hands. "I met her…a few years back. Great fighter," Arya added. She suddenly had the urge to have a sword in her hand, to train with the woman who had defeated the Hound.

As Sansa continued to point out people in the room, her eyes fell upon a familiar face, one she had no desire to ever see again. Petyr Baelish stood in the background in shadow, his eyes roaming the Great Hall, until they fell upon Arya. She watched a half smile grace his features as he pushed himself from the wall. He was coming towards the Stark table.

He stood before her and bowed low. She felt anger arise in her stomach and spread throughout her body. The day he had come to speak with Tywin Lannister played in her mind like a broken record.

"It is good to have you home, Princess Arya. My name is…"

"I know who you are…Lord Baelish."

"Please, call me Uncle Petyr. I had the pleasure, though fleeting, to marry your Aunt Lysa. It was a tragedy the day she died, and you have my condolences."

"I don't need condolences for a woman I barely knew," Arya said, low.

She did not even try to hide her disdain for the man. He looked from her to Sansa, as if imploring her sister to help him. Sansa just smiled, pleased with Arya's behavior.

"May I serve you another cup of wine?" he asked, his smile growing.

Arya balled her hands into fists at his words. Her body was so wound in tension she feared she would scream just for release. Littlefinger had just admitted he had known it was her that day he had visited Tywin Lannister. He was reminding her he knew it was her, yet never blew her cover, as if she owed him something. She did not owe anything to the man who plotted her brother's demise.

"Excuse me," Arya said, rising to her feet. "Suddenly, I'm not so hungry."

She walked away before anyone could stop her. Arya headed to her room, slamming the door behind her. As much as she tried to fight it she was forced back to Harrenhal, to a time she did not know if she would survive to see a new day. When her door opened Arya was pacing the room, lost in the memories of the dead, of Gendry in the forge, of Jaqen H'ghar starting her on the road to Bravvos.

"Arya," Sansa called. She twisted around, seeing Sansa and Jon watching her. They shared a look of concern at the state Arya was in. Too many memories threating to drown her. The dead hanging from pikes for all to see, some half eaten by crows. Gendry almost dying in front of her eyes. Gendry in the forge, the first time Arya felt her attraction for him growing. Her Angel of Death Jaqen H'ghar willing to pay the debt owed to the gods by her.

"What is he doing here!" she yelled, angry tears blinding her vision. Both Sansa and Jon were taken aback by her angered yell. "What's he doing here?" she asked again, much quieter.

Arya did not wait for them to answer before she went back to pacing, drowning in her memories of that time in Harrenhal. The stench of death assaulted her, downing out her room, Sansa and Jon. She was back in the presence of Tywin Lannister and Littlefinger. He's eyes had been on her one too many times and she knew her cover was blown. One word from him and Tywin would have known he held a Stark in his grasps. Yet, Littlefinger had not said a word. Why?

"We have to get out of here. I have to get Gendry and Hotpie," Arya cried, grabbing at her hair.

"Arya!"

She heard Jon's voice, but that was not right. Jon was at the Wall, not here in Harrenhal. She would go to him, though. Jon would protect all three of them if she could just find a way to get to him. Someone grabbed her, wrapping her in warmth and holding her tightly. The person holding her smelled like Jon, and when she allowed herself to concentrate she heard his voice again.

"Come back to me, Arya," he whispered against her ear. "Your home, in Winterfell. I'm here. I have you. Come back to me."

Arya stilled, the memory of Harrenhal melting with each word Jon spoke. His words pulled her from her memories. His hold grounded her to the present. His touch reminded her that she was safe again. Harrenhal was just a memory. She, Gendry and Hotpie had escaped.

"Jon," Arya said, her voice low and shaky.

"I'm right here. You're safe," he assured her, kissing her forehead. "Sansa, I want that man gone. I don't care how it happens, but he's worn out his welcome."

"Jon, we just can't send him away. He has the Vale and...he saved us," Sansa retorted.

"Then pay him well and send him on his way! Now!" Jon said, angered.

Sansa looked from him to Arya. She finally conceded, nodding her head once and leaving the room. When she left Jon turned back to Arya, searching her face. His eyes pleaded with her to be okay as his face shown his helplessness. He had never seen Arya in such a state before. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently.

He turned to grab the chair, but she stopped him. Arya pulled him in the bed beside her and curled up against his side. With him so close her, her mind remained sane. "Stay," she whispered, begged.

Jon wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer and closing his eyes. "Forever," he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun barely shown through the window of her room as she dressed. Some time before she awoke Jon had slipped away. With him beside her, Arya had had a peaceful, dreamless sleep, yet she felt restless. There was a build up of tension resonating throughout her body and she needed some release.

Grabbing Needle, she left her room in the quiet of the morning. Most of the inhabitants of Winterfell continued to sleep. The courtyard was her destination, and when she entered to find it empty she smiled. She grabbed Needle, feeling the familiar weight of the blade in her hands. It felt like an eternity since she had used it, and the sword was calling to her.

Arya closed her eyes. She had trained in both the light and the dark, finding the latter more to her liking. Her senses awoke in the darkness, allowing her to have full control of her surroundings. The Water Dance of Bravos came naturally to her now, and she did not have to think of her movements. Her body moved with the force of the blade, as if she and the blade were one.

She was in her element, moving swiftly and gracefully. In her mind the names on her list took bloody shape as they fell at her feet. Faster and faster she went, until the snow felt like ice upon her skin, pricking her. Her breaths came out in puffs, floating around her face. Her feet glided through ice and snow with ease as Needle cut through the air with razor sharp accuracy. On and on the blade cut through the air, a deadly hurricane, until the blade made impact with something solid.

Arya jerked back, opening her eyes in surprise. Jon stood before her, a broken, wooden sword in his hands, his eye wide in shock. He looked from Needle to the broken sword, swallowing.

"J—Jon, I'm sorry," Arya said, rushed. She had no idea he was there. She could have hurt him if he had not deflected her deadly aim. He threw the broken sword down and reached for Needle. Arya relinquished her hold, allowing him to inspect the sword he had given to her. He turned the sword in every direction, a look of wonder in his eyes.

"You still have it," he said, softly.

Arya smiled, sadly. She had not been able to give it up, even when it was called for her to do so. "It has served me well all these years."

He swallowed again, as if to swallow the words on his lips. "Did you learn the first lesson I taught you?"

"More than once," she whispered.

He turned the handle of the sword towards her. She took it, feeling a part of herself return. "I've trained many men over the years, but I've never seen them move the way you did."

The memory of Syrio Forel played in her mind. Would he be proud of her? Would he smile in the knowledge that she had perfected the Water Dance? She felt a tinge of sadness in her gut that he had not lived to see this day.

Jon unsheathed his own sword and Arya was mesmerized by its beauty. He held it up for her to look at. "Longclaw," he said.

Without warning, Jon swung the blade towards Arya, but she was ready. The two blades, Needle and Longclaw, sang a song with deadly cords. Jon relented, taking a step back and smiling, as if proud. Slowly, he began to walk a circle around her…the hunter. But, Jon had no idea who he was hunting, or what she was capable of.

He lunged for her just as Arya slowly twirled around. When she faced him again, Needle was ready. She blocked his blow and before Jon could react he had the sharp end of a blade at his throat. She smiled. He did not. Jon watched her for a moment, as if he did not recognize who she was.

Arya flipped the blade away, placing it behind her back and waiting. Jon was an expert swordsmen, but Arya could tell his moves before he made them. She watched his eyes, how they flickered in the direction he desired to put his blade. She watched his body tilt, giving away more than he wanted to give away.

Jon came at her relentlessly. One swing to her left side, which she dodged. The second swing to her right, which did not come close. The third was towards her neck, but she had predicted it and ducked out of the way. When she came up, Needle was pressed against Jon's stomach. This time…he did smile.

Arya twirled around again, bending low and growling. She waited, watched, but Jon was a fast learner. This time, he allowed her to make the move.

Good, she thought. He learned fast.

She went at him with swift accuracy, but Jon was not easily defeated this time. Longclaw served him well. Arya felt elation, for Jon treated her as formidable opponent and not a weakling. The hits she received from him were hard and swift.

"When the army of the dead come will you show them mercy?" Jon asked, his words spoken roughly.

"No Mercy!" Arya cried, swinging for Jon's leg. He deflected her hit, but only barely.

They circled one another, their chests rising and falling in rapid succession. Arya went for his arm, but he slammed Longclaw against Needle forcing the sword from Arya's hand. Before she could recover he grabbed her and twisted her around slamming her into his chest. His blade was at her throat, but the steel never touched skin. He had a steady hand.

"What will you do to them, Arya?" Jon whispered, his words sending a thrill through her.

"Stick them with the pointy end!" she whispered back.

Arya turned slightly, looking back at Jon. His face was inches from her own, his cold breath fanning her face. Time seemed to stand still once more. The hand on her arm grew painful as he squeezed, but it only added to the intensity of the moment.

"I'm impressed, M'lady," he said.

"Shouldn't you be against this, Your Grace? I am, after all, just a girl," she said, bating him.

"I know what you have become, Arya. I know you were never meant to be like Sansa. You're like me…wild and not one to conform. You're one of the best I've seen with a sword in their hands, and it is a relief to know that when the time comes you will be able to defend yourself. That is why I have a proposition for you," Jon said, releasing her and stepping away.

She turned fully towards him, her face showing her confusion. She was thrilled he saw the person she was and did not try to change her. He smiled, taking her hand in his and placing it against his heart.

"Stand at my side, Arya. Be my sword when the darkness descends upon us. Protect me with your life as I will protect you as well. I need you beside me…you and Needle. I realize I cannot shelter you, for you would feel smothered and leave me. I want to protect you from harm, from what is to come, but I cannot do that. It should be my job, but I am not naive. So, stand with me. Stand beside me and whatever comes we will meet it together…you and me."

Arya felt overcome with the force of her emotions. Jon respected the warrior she had become. He did not want her to pretend to be something she was not. He did not try to force her to live a life that was not meant for her to live. She threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly.

"You have my sword, Your Grace. You have me," she whispered.

Jon squeezed her back, laughing softly. "Please do not call me that. I'm just Jon to you."

They remained in a tight embrace before someone walked into the courtyard to inform Jon of a raven that had come for him. Arya followed him to the Great Hall where several of his men were waiting for their King. She watched Jon as he read the raven's message silently, his eyes growing wide for a moment.

"Gather every one together for a meeting as soon as possible," he instructed. Several men left to do their King's bidding. He motioned for Arya, Davos and Tormund to join him.

"I received a letter from Sam a few days ago begging me to go to Dragonstone. There, he said, I would find something to help us in the war to come. Dragonglass, which we can make into weapons. I just received another message, summoning me to Dragonstone."

"From who?" Davos said, surprised.

"Daenerys Targaryen."

The small group remained silent at this news. They looked at one another, their looks saying the same thing. It was too dangerous for Jon to go.

"We need the dragonglass…and her help. If it is true that she has three grown dragons we will need her in the war to come." Jon said, when he saw their looks of apprehension.

"Send someone to go in your place. I'll go," Tormund said.

Jon turned to his friend, giving him an appreciative smile. "I need you and the Wildlings at East Watch By the Sea. Protecting that area is of the utmost importance."

"You can't go alone," Davos said.

"I won't. You're coming with me," he said to the man. Jon turned his eyes towards Arya. "Are you with me?" he asked.

"My sword is yours," she responded, without hesitation.

As everyone gathered in the Great Hall Jon told them of his plans to go to Dragonstone and meet with Daenarys Targaryen. No one agreed with his choice, including Sansa, but Jon had made his mind up and had his trio backing him. He was King, and it was his decision. He would leave Winterfell and the North in Sansa's hands seeing as Bran had given up his birthright. He had made that clear several times.

When the meeting was over, Arya walked to her room to grab her things for the journey ahead. As she passed the entrance to the godswood she noticed Bran sitting alone. They had not spent a lot of time together since being back at Winterfell. At one time, she had considered them close, but now they had changed too much. Still, he was her brother and there was a chance she would not return from this trip. Arya made a detour to the godswood.

She sat beside him, not wanting to disturb him just yet. His eyes were glazed over and white, lost in a vision. She watched him, watched his face remain emotionless. Whatever he saw he never revealed to her, but her presences must have registered, for he let his vision go and came back to the present. Bran slowly looked in her direction.

"It will be worth it, Arya. Everything that is about to happen. It is by design."

His cryptic message made Arya's skin prickle. "What did you see?" she asked.

His eyes, eyes that held little emotions never wavered from her. His face never changed from its stony look. Even his voice held little emotions, as if she were talking to a stranger.

"You are not ready to know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, angered.

"It means you have to live the journey before you are ready to make the decision. You will become two sides of the same coin, but those two sides will both be equally important."

Bran's words made little sense to her. He talked in riddles that held no weight. "Do you know how this war will end, Bran?"

For the first time since he had returned, Arya saw a glimmer of emotion on his face. He grabbed her hand, placing it in his lap and looked back towards the weirwood tree. "I have seen several outcomes. The choice has not been made yet, and until that moment my visions will be in pieces. Most of what I see doesn't really make sense, though I have pieced some things together. I have a lot of work to do before the Night's King touches our lands. He's getting closer every day."

"Jon will stop him," Arya said, believing every word.

Bran looked back at her again, releasing her hand. "When Jon returns he will be ready to hear the truth," Bran said, more to himself than to Arya.

"Arya, they're ready," came Sansa's voice. She looked back at her sister before climbing to her feet and hugging her brother one last time. His words rolled around in her head, yet she could not make them make sense. They were jumbled and messy. She hugged her sister before joining Jon and Davos on her horse. They would ride with an escort to the sea and take a boat the rest of the way to Dragonstone.

They rode most of the day, until night descended upon them, which made them set up camp. They ate their supper by a small fire before Arya excused herself to go to bed. She did not mind the sleeping arrangements, or sleeping on a small cot. It had been a very long day and she was exhausted. The moment her head hit the pillow she was asleep.

When she opened her eyes she stared into a pool of blue she had not seen in years. His large frame lay beside her in the small space of her cot, pressed against her cold body. His hand came towards her face as his fingers gently caressed her cheek. Arya closed her eyes, lost in the way his touch felt, lost in the memory of Gendry.

"Look at me, Arya," he said. She opened her eyes, taking in his handsome features, his masculine jawline. Her heart ached, for she knew it was just a dream, but he felt so real. His arms draped over her shoulders and midsection carried the weight of realness.

"You left me," she whispered.

"I've never left you, but you are the one forgetting," he answered, his voice just above a whisper.

"You're dead, Gendry…"

"And he's alive," Gendry finished.

His voice washed over her like the tide of a warm sea. "So beautiful," he whispered. He leaned in to her, his smooth lips touching hers. She drank him in, every ounce of him, and devoured the kiss he gave her. His lips moved to her ear and whispered, "you will become two sides of the same coin."

She moved her face and took his lips with hers again, deepening the kiss. He did not fight her, but pulled her closer to him. When she broke the kiss to suck in a breath there was one name upon her lips. One name she said so softly, as if in prayer.

"Jon," she whispered.

As if to answer her whispered prayer when she looked again Jon's face filled her vision. He lay where Gendry had been only seconds before. It was his arms holding her now. He held her tightly to him, his lips mere inches from her own. Arya didn't fight his hold, surprised that she wanted to be this close to him. She reached a shaking hand to his face, touching him softly. His eyes closed as she ran her fingers lightly over the scars on his face.

Jon. Her Jon. He had always belonged to her and she had always belonged to him. His lips glided over Arya's in a different way than Gendry's had. With Gendry there was fire and passion. With Jon she felt the world shift on its axis. She felt a tenderness that drowned her with it's existence. The experience was exactly like two sides of the same coin, she thought.

"You are my heart," Jon whispered.

Arya jerked awake, sitting up so fast her head began to swim. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, her breaths jagged and rough. She could still see Gendry's blue eyes. She could still feel Jon's lips on hers.

"Arya?"

She gasped, surprised to come face to face with one of the men in her dreams. He watched her with concern, his eyes roaming every part of her face. She had not realized Jon meant to sleep in her tent, but he was propped on one elbow from his cot across from her.

"I—I'm fine," she mumbled, laying back down and turning away from Jon. She could feel him watching her, could hear him breathing in the small tent. And in that very moment there was no denying that a part of her wanted him to get out of his cot, lay down beside her and kiss her again like he had done in her dream.


	5. Chapter 5

Arya stayed quiet most of the ride that morning into the afternoon. She could see Jon out of the corner of her eye. He rode along side her, stealing glances her way as if trying to figure out what was wrong with her. She had barely spoke five sentences to him since her dream last night.

Arya was not sure what was worse, the fact that another man had replaced Gendry in her mind, or that that other man had been Jon. He was… he was… she could not even say it aloud, but she knew what he was. Her half-brother. The thought caused Arya to slam her eyes closed, desperate to get him out of her head. She was desperate to forget her dream.

Neither she nor Jon were Targaryens. They were not Lannisters. The very thought of what her heart whispered to her head was inconceivable. She was a Stark of Winterfell. And Jon? Jon… he was the most important person to her. She would not do anything to put the love they shared in jeopardy. If he even suspected what she felt for him he would turn her away in disgust.

She would hide away her feelings and wants, never to see the light of day. She had done it before, with Gendry, and she could do it again. Arya forced her mind to think of Gendry, forced her heart to remember the boy she lost, but his memory was too painful. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and shook her head, freeing her mind from all thoughts.

It was easier said than done with Jon so close and stealing glances at her. Instead, Arya turned to look on the other side of her at Ser Davos Seaworth. She knew next to nothing about her traveling companion. This was the perfect time to find out some things about him. As If he felt her eyes upon him he turned and gave her a warm smile. She liked him right away. Something about him screamed loyalty. Arya noticed something tied to his belt and reached over to inspect it. Davos allowed her curiosity.

She picked up a burnt, black figurine in the form of a stag. Arya noticed the way his jaw clenched, as if he felt physical pain. His eyes turned downward, sadness etched in his wise orbs. This figurine meant a great deal to him, but also hurt him as well. Arya released the stag, placing it gently back in it's place.

"It's very beautiful."

The truth of it was, at one time it had been beautiful, she was sure of it, but now it was burnt and disfigured. She wanted to take the hurt look off his face.

"It is not beautiful anymore, just burnt wood now, M'lady. I keep it with me more to remember the one who gave it to me."

It was a child's figurine, of that much she was sure. "Did it belong to your son or daughter?" Arya asked.

"She was not my daughter by blood, but I could not have loved her any more than I did if she were."

His voice was soft, quiet, but the emotions beneath his words were that of a strong storm. Arya could see his pain clearly.

"What happened to her?"

The pain turned to anger in the blink of an eye. At first, Arya feared she had gone too far in her questioning. "Evil murdered her, M'lady. In the name of a red witch's god!"

Red witch. Arya would forever be haunted by that woman where ever she went. She had never met Davos, yet he spoke of a woman who haunted Arya's nightmares, who boiled the very blood in her body.

"Melisandre?" Arya seethed, as if the hated name was curse. How many red witches were there this side of the Narrow Sea? It had to be her, and by the surprised look on Davos' face, Arya knew she had guessed right.

"You know her?" he asked, his anger still evident.

Arya looked away from him, towards the path out in front of them. She knew her all too well. Melisandre was on Arya's list. The woman's words echoed in her mind, speaking of meeting again. Oh, how Arya hoped those words would come to pass.

"How does she do it? How does she kill? Arya could barely speak the words, but she wanted to know what Gendry's final moments were like. When Davos answered her, she had wished she had kept her mouth shut.

" She sacrifices them to her god. She burns them."

Arya's eyes slowly closed, the sight of Gendry screaming in pain assaulted her in the dark. Had he suffered long? Had he screamed her name, screamed for her to help him? Had he known what was coming?

"She burned someone you knew?" Davos asked, softly.

"Someone I loved," Arya whispered.

"We will stop here and rest for the day. We are almost to our destination, and I think all of us could use the rest."

Arya opened her eyes and looked over at Jon. His eyes roamed from her to Davos and back. He felt their loss, and this rest was his way of letting them cope. He reached over grabbing her hand and squeezing. The moment he released her she felt the loss of his touch, wanting it back.

They stopped at a small inn and paid for rooms for the night. Tomorrow, they would be on a ship headed towards Dragonstone. Arya did not realize how tired she was until she climbed from her horse and walked into the dark inn. Her legs and thighs screamed their protest from a long day's ride.

She, Jon and Davos sat around a small round table and ordered onion soup and mead. The rest of Jon's men lounged around wherever they could find room, for the inn was packed. Arya pulled her hood from her head allowing the warm air from the fire to touch her cold cheeks. The air outside was becoming colder by the day.

Several eyes looked upon the newcomers in curiosity, their eyes mostly going towards Arya. She looked around the room noticing there were no women except the barmaids. They were surrounded by a group of men, their faces smiling, but Arya could see the tension in their eyes. The men grabbed at them freely, but politely they would slap their hands away with a laugh. Arya was not laughing.

"What do we have here?" someone said, behind Arya. She could hear the slur in the man's voice, could smell the alcohol from a mile away. She hoped, for his sake, he was heading to a different table, but unfortunately she felt the seat beside her shift. A burly man with a long beard sat down heavily beside her. His head was balding, his eyes grey and watery. They were pointed right to Arya.

The man slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him. The moment the man touched her Jon was on his feet, but Arya was faster. With quick speed, Arya grabbed a dagger from her hip and pressed it to the man's privates. Bran had had a gift for her before her travels with Jon. The Valerian steel dagger felt good in her grasps. Not as good as Needle, but it would do. The man went still, his eyes growing wide in fear. Just to show she was not playing Arya pressed the dagger harder. The man whimpered and raised his arm from Arya's shoulder.

"Tell me, sir, what made you think I wanted your company? See these good men before us?" she said, nodding to Jon and Davos. "They are all the company I require," she said, her words so quiet.

"I—I meant…meant no harm," he stammered. His body began to slightly shake, which thrilled Arya. She had to force her mind not to attack the man… not yet.

"Now, see, I don't believe you. I believe you wanted to come over here and cause much harm. I am not one to cause harm to, am I making myself clear?" He nodded his head swiftly, his eyes begging her to let him go. She was not sure he had learned his lesson.

She pressed the dagger harder, this time making him sob in fear. "If you want to leave here alive you will get up from this table and walk out if this inn. There will be no retaliating, tell your friends this. I see them watching us. I will kill every one of you, cut your manhood off and feed them to your horses. If that does not sway you, know I will wear your face to kill every last friend and family you have."

His eyes grew wide, looking towards her. Yes, she thought, you know what I am now. Do us both a favor and do as I said. He gave her a slight shaking nod, and she placed the dagger swiftly back beside her hip. The man jumped from the chair, giving her one last wide-eyed look and ran for the door. Moments later, his friends followed.

Arya smiled, feeling power surge through her blood, boiling it. When she looked at Jon and Davos she held her hand over her mouth, pretending to cough, for she felt like laughing at their shocked faces. Jon was still half standing, being one to come to her aid, and Davos held his glass in the air, not quite touching his lips. Both wore the same expression, one of shock and awe. Arya needed no man to protect her… not anymore. Not since Gendry.

Davos sat his glass down, raised his head back and let go of a hearty laugh. Jon sat back down, heavily, his face still in his shock.

"I like this girl!" Davos said, slapping his hand down on the table. Arya laughed, bowing slightly to the man. When she turned to Jon he was smiling as well.

"She is pretty amazing," Jon said, softly. Arya's smile faltered, but she recovered at once, even as her cheeks burned. She ducked her head low, as if concentrating on her food, but she could still feel Jon's eyes on her. She wanted to look at him fully, to enjoy his attention, but she feared he would see through her to the secret she so desperately tried to keep hidden.

For the rest of the meal Jon and Davos talked of their journey and what would await them. Arya remained quiet, choosing to listen. When Jon talked of the Dragon Queen, Arya felt a tinge of jealousy in the pit of her stomach, which was crazy. She had no reason to be jealous. Or, so, that is what she kept telling herself.

When they ate their fill of soup, and drank their weight in mead, the trio went to their rooms to sleep the rest of the night away. As Jon said his goodbyes to Davos, he gently grabbed Arya's arm and steered her towards a room down the hall. When he entered with her, she felt her blood rush to her head. Jon was staying with her. She played off her sudden rise in temperature on the large amount of mead she had had. She watched him take off his long cape and undo his chainmail armor. He sat both upon a wooden chair beside the door. Longclaw was sat against the wall closest to the one bed in the room.

"I was proud of you tonight, Arya. The way you handled that man was amazing. May I… may I ask you a personal question?" Jon asked, softly.

"Of course," Arya said, finally meeting his stare. He was so handsome, standing before her in all black, the first three buttons of his shirt undone.

"Did you have to protect yourself like that a lot?"

She could tell he was uncomfortable asking her that question. He wanted to know, yet he did not. "Sometimes. For a while I had Gendry, and he protecting me the best he could. I had the Hound. He protected me in his own ways. After that, I learned to protect myself, and to tell you the truth, I have done a better job than anyone of taking care of me."

"Even me?" Jon said, only half joking.

Arya smiled, shaking her head. "Fine, I've done the second best job of taking care of me."

Jon reached up, undoing the forth button of his shirt. The movement drew her eyes to his exposed chest. Her eyes went wide, her mouth opening in a gasp. Upon his chest there were dagger marks etched into his marble skin. Ugly, jagged marks that spoke of pain and death.

"Jon…" she said, strangled. Arya rushed to him, moving his hands out of the way before he could close his shirt. She finished the last few buttons and opened his shirt, giving her full view of his wounds.

"Did you think I was speaking in metaphors about the stabbings?" he said, trying to make light of the situation. He had told her what had happened, but to see it first hand was different. They still looked fresh, jagged and hot, yet when she softly ran her fingers over one of the cuts it felt cold to the touch. Cold against hot skin.

Jon grabbed her hand, stopping her probes. She slowly raised her eyes to his. He looked pained. "Please. I want to feel them," she whispered. They were proof he had died, left her, yet here he stood.

He moved his hand, allowing her to move from one stab wound to the other. Her fingers gently touched him, causing him to suck in a breath. She stole a glance at him. His eyes were closed, as if enjoying her touch.

"Do they hurt?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he said, strained.

Arya lowered her hand, placing his shirt back over his wounds. She took a step back, raising her shirt and exposing her stomach. The ugly scar left by the Waif's dagger came into view. She still remembered the day on the bridge when the blade slide into her skin over and over. She remembered the kind actress that had helped her and had died as a result of that help. She should have been dead also, but the god of Death had not wanted her that day.

Jon's jaw clenched, his eyes growing angry. His hand reached for her, bringing her close to him as he inspected the scar on her stomach. She felt the tension in his body, felt his rage build.

"Looks like we both have our scars," she said.

He slid his fingers gently over her skin, causing her goosebumps. The touch was so intimate, and she had to remind herself it meant something different to Jon than it did her. Even as his lips touched her scar, she screamed in her mind it meant nothing. When he slowly rose to stand close to her she wanted to move away, but he held her in place. Even if the world tilted around them, sending them to their deaths, she could not move.

Jon leaned towards her, his eyes glazed over, as if he had no control of his actions. Arya waited, not breathing, as his lips came to within inches of her own. All it would take was for her to move a fraction of a hair and she would know what his lips felt like on hers, but she needed him to make the first move. His breath tickled her cheeks, fluttering her eyelashes. His hand snaked around her midsection, holding her tightly. She slid her arm around his neck, feeling the strength of his shoulders. She wanted him, the ramifications be damned.

Suddenly, Jon jerked away from her, stumbling to the other side of the room. He slammed against the wall, as if he would have kept going had the wall not been there. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession as he stared at Arya. He looked at her as if he did not recognize her. She swallowed hard, wanting to say something but not knowing what to say. She would say anything to stop Jon from looking at her the way he was. He slid down the wall, his eyes still upon her.

"Arya," he said, hoarse. "I'm—I'm so sorry." She saw tears in his eyes, cutting her like a blade. He looked away, his face turning to disgust. "I tried not to act on what I have felt lately. It's wrong, I know it is."

His admittance knocked the breath from Arya. She swayed, the strength leaving her limbs. Did Jon feel the same way? Had he been struggling with new found feelings like she had? She had so many questions, but her mouth refused to work. In the stillness of the room she came to grips with the look upon Jon's face. It was not elation. It was not happiness. Jon did not look as though he were a man in love. He looked tortured. He looked scared. He looked defeated. His next words sealed her heartache, giving her that same feeling of abandonment.

"We cannot do this," he whispered, climbing to his feet and storming out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Arya stared out the window as the rain fell. She had not slept since Jon stormed out of the room. He had never returned, leaving her with her thoughts. He was right, she knew. What was happening between them could never see the light of day. No one would understand it, and he was King of The North. There was a war coming, and they needed Jon.

So, as the hours passed through the sleepless night, Arya hardened her heart. She had learned to do this well over the years. When you felt nothing, nothing could harm you. There had been no tears, so the puffiness in her eyes came only from lack of sleep. She had simply closed her eyes and wished her feelings for Jon away, drawing back to herself the girl known as No One. She would be that emotionless girl, for it was the only way to survive being in Jon's presence.

The door opened, but Arya kept her eyes closed, her face turned to the window. She knew it was Jon the moment he stepped in the door. She listened as he walked around the room picking up his armor and cape. For the longest time he said not one word to her.

"Arya," he called to her, his voice tired and defeated.

For a moment, Arya did not acknowledge him, but took a few more seconds to bury her feelings. The next few moments would be hard. But, when she was ready, she stood from the chair and turned to meet his stare. Jon winced at the emotionless expression upon her face. She looked at him as if he were a stranger.

"We need to talk…about last night," he said, calculating every word.

Arya did not answer him, but kept her cold stare in place. She watched his face fall, saw the pain in his eyes, and it almost broke her, but she remained in control.

"There is nothing to discuss…Your Grace."

Jon flinched, as Arya had spat on him. "Your Grace? Is that how it will be?" he whispered.

Arya shrugged her shoulders. She acted as though she did not care one way or the other, but the truth was she wanted to take the pain away. He did not hide what her words and actions were doing. He allowed her to see it, as if it were a punishment.

"You are a King, therefore, I am showing you the respect you deserve."

"Then call me Jon!" he shot back, angered.

"As you command," she said, adding a small bow.

Jon cut the distance between them. Arya raised her eyes slowly to his, her walls of defense shaking. He reached out, caressing her cheek with his thumb. He looked so tired, so lost. He leaned down, resting his forehead upon hers. The walls of defense shook until she felt it throughout her entire body. If she didn't escape him they would crumble and she would feel the hurt and pain rushing in like the tide.

"Tell me how to do this. Tell me how this could work and I will give you everything," he whispered.

It was all she had wanted to hear, but No One was in control and would not give up her hold. Arya stepped out of his hold, turning her back on him. Jon sighed.

"We must leave, Your Grace. The ship is waiting." Arya tried to take a step towards the door, but Jon grabbed her arm and turned her roughly towards him.

"Your King commands you to call him Jon," he said, angered.

"I have not bent the knee to anyone. I have no king," Arya shot back.

"That could be considered treason, M'lady."

The more he talked the closer he drew towards her, until she was pressed against his chest. She could feel every muscle in his body tense with fury, but she did not back down. She could not. If she did she would lose this battle. She would get him to throw everything away for her, and she knew Jon deserved so much more.

"Then grab Longclaw and plunge it through my heart…Your Grace," she said, allowing her anger to speak for her.

Jon immediately let her go, taking a step away from her, as if he feared Longclaw would appear in his hands to do her harm. Arya took that moment to walk past him and out of the room.

She walked into the bitter cold, breathing in the newly fallen snow. The coldness cleared her mind, allowing her to calm down. The confrontation had rattled her more than she was willing to admit. She did not wait for Jon and Davos, but went to fetch her horse.

She was saddled and ready by the time the two men joined her. Jon climbed on his black stallion without looking at Arya, which she was thankful for. She did not think she could confront that pain in his eyes again. Davos, on the other hand, looked from Arya to Jon, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"It's gotten very cold all of a sudden," he said, not talking about the weather.

"Let's go," Jon said, kicking his horse into action and ignoring Davos' comment. Jon led the way with Davos behind him and Arya pulling up the rear. The rest of their men followed closely behind the trio.

From sun up to sun down they road with very few words spoken. Davos did most of the talking, telling Arya of his life growing up. He told her about his smuggling days and about his family. She hung on his every word, trying to find something that would distract her mind from screaming at her for hurting Jon, but her eyes seemed to find him anyway. He hunched down in his saddle, his head lowered. He was still angry.

"You know, M'lady, I have been with Jon for a while now," Davos said, talking low so only she could hear. "He talked of nothing more than he did of Arya Stark. I do not presume to know what has happened between the two of you, but I do know Jon Snow needs you now more than he ever has. The path laid out before him is an impossible one, and I have not seen him smile like he does when you are around."

Davos bowed slightly and rode ahead of her. He never gave her time to respond, and she guessed that he meant it that way. His words had won out, worming their way into her cold heart and melting it. She had always been on Jon's mind, as he was always on hers. Davos was right in that this road they were going down was dangerous and impossible. Something was coming for them. Something, that if they did not stand together would destroy them. Arya sighed, dropping her shoulders in defeat. Kicking her horse, she rode up beside Jon.

He looked over at her, surprise melting his brooding away. Arya smiled, reaching her hand out to him. He looked down at her hand. There was no hesitation in his movements as he took her hand in his and squeezed. She allowed him to hold her hand, allowed him to feel her presence…Arya's presence, before pulling away.

They made it to the ship by nightfall and slept the rest of the trip. Arya heard her door open, but was too tired to protest the disturbance. She felt the bed move and someone climb in behind her. Arya did not need to see Jon to know it was him. She sensed his presence immediately, but had no strength to fight. Instead, she turned towards him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Jon kissed the top of her head, settling in beside her and holding her for the rest of the night.

Dragonstone loomed before them in all its majestic wonder. They were wading in the small boat headed for the shore. Arya saw an envoy waiting for them, and the sight of the foreign army chilled her. Jon was in more danger than she thought.

"Those are Dothraki soldiers, mean sons a bitches," Davos said.

"Well, let's give them no reason to attack," Jon said, looking at Arya. Her response was to smirk.

They made landfall, being greeted by none other than Tyrion Lannister. He and Jon seemed well acquainted, and Arya remembered they had made the long journey to the wall together.

"Arya Stark?" Tyrion said, shocked. "It was feared you were dead."

"I've cheated death many times. It has not won yet," she answered.

Tyrion began to smile, "It takes a clever person to outwit my sister. Bravo!"

Arya bowed to the imp at this comment. "I do hope one day that I meet your sister again. It would be such a pleasure." Arya's smile was sweet, but her words and their meaning were deadly, like a viper.

"We have that in common, M'lady," he said, understanding everything Arya was not saying.

Tyrion led them up a long winding walkway towards a castle that sat upon a hill. He and Jon talked as Arya looked around. She could hear the sound of rushing air coming towards them, and with every passing second it grew louder, until a large shadow blanketed them. She looked up, not believing what she saw.

Three large dragons flew towards the castle as she watched in shock. Never had she thought she would see the day when dragons would live again, or that she would be a testament to their existence.

"I would tell you that you get used to them, but you never do," Tyrion said, helping Jon back to his feet. Even as they continued their walk Arya kept her eyes to the sky. They were truly magnificent.

They were brought to a large throne room where a woman with long white, blond hair sat before them on a throne made of stone. Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons. She welcomed them well enough, but the small talk did not last long. She assumed Jon was here to bend the knee, but that was not his purpose and he made it known quickly. The air in the room grew ice cold from that moment on.

Daenerys had no desire to listen to Jon's story of the Night's King and his army. But, Jon did not give up.

"You, step forward," she commanded.

It took a moment for Arya to realize that Daenerys was speaking to her. Arya looked at Jon, seeing his concern, but did as the woman asked.

Daenerys stood from her throne and walked towards Arya. Her Dothraki protectors came with her, their eyes on Jon and Davos. She represented no threat to their queen in their eyes, but they had no idea she was the most dangerous one in the room.

Daenerys circled Arya, a half smile upon her face. "You have a woman in your escort Jon Snow? Did you think it was wise to bring her? Surely, you knew the dangers."

"She can take care of herself, better than any one us," Jon said, proudly.

"What is your name?"

"Arya Stark."

Daenerys stilled, her eyes moving to Jon again. "I see," was all she said before turning back to Arya. "You are not dressed like a Princess of Winterfell should be dressed. Why is that?"

"I am not a Princess of Winterfell. That girl died years ago," Arya answered.

This seemed to intrigue the woman. "And who are you, now?" she asked.

"In this moment I am No One."

Daenerys smiled at this, nodding her head. "You are Jon Snow's protector, which means you know how to weld a sword. I must say, I am quite interested in your story Arya Stark. Perhaps, while staying as my guests you and I can chat."

"Of course," Arya answered, taken aback by this.

Suddenly, the door swung open and a bald man rushed through. He looked familiar to Arya, and she tried to place his face. She had memories of this man, yet they were foggy. She watched him whisper something in Daenery's ear and her smile faltered.

She dismissed them with promises of baths and food, but refused to allow them to leave. Arya followed Jon and Davos out of the throne room towards large rooms overlooking the sea below.

"Well, we aren't dead, so that's saying something," Davos said.

"This is Jon Snow? He's King of The North?" Jon said, mocking Davos with a sigh.

"Did I lie? I couldn't think of as many names for you as she had! She was impressed with you, don't worry," Davos said, laughing.

"I don't care about that," Jon said, uncomfortable. He stole a glance at Arya, but she kept her eyes on the ground. She listened to every word, though.

"You were impressed as well. She's a beautiful woman, how could you not," Davos said.

Arya hurried to her room, leaving the two men behind her. She did not want to hear the rest of the conversation, the part where Jon agreed. She locked the door, making sure Jon understood he was not invited. Looking around the room, she noticed a large bed and not much else. That's all she needed, that and the large window overlooking the sea. She walked towards it and opened it, allowing the smell of the sea on the air to blanket her. She closed her eyes, releasing her tension.

The next day, she was summonsed before Daenerys. Instead of being led towards the throne room, Arya was led outside. Daenerys and her trusted advisor watched her approach, both wearing warm smiles. Daenerys pointed to a chair opposite her for Arya to take. By the time she sat down, Arya had counted all the guards and the easiest way to escape just in case. It was not lost on her that she was alone, Jon and Davos absent from this little get together.

"Do not worry. Jon Snow is out on the cliffs there with Tyrion," Daenerys answered her unspoken question. Arya could see Jon and Tyrion just barely. From here they looked like two small dots, but she recognized his large northern cape. "Would you like some wine?"

"No, thank you," Arya declined, politely.

"I guess you are wondering why I wanted you here." Arya nodded her head. "I want to know more about this Jon Snow. Who better to ask than his half-sister. As you can imagine it is hard for me to believe his tale about an army of dead walkers…"

"No, I can't imagine," Arya said, interrupting. "I know Jon better than anyone else. If he says he saw an Army of Dead things that is exactly what he saw. He is an honorable man."

"I don't know him as well as you, so I cannot believe him so easily. What if it were a trap?" Daenerys asked.

"A trap? With all due respect, that is foolish talk. He came here with a handful of soldiers, a woman to protect him. He gave up all weapons to protect him. He stood before you, a woman who's father murdered our kin, in the hopes you would listen. And besides all of that, you have three dragons. What possible danger could you be in?" Arya did not know when to stop once she got going.

Daenerys stared at her, as if contemplating her words. "You do have a point. And, please, call me Dany."

"Dany, listen to him, please. He is not crazy, or here to cause harm. Something is coming, something too large for one army to beat. Our only hope is to unite together. Jon… Jon needs you." The words were as sandpaper passing over her tongue, for they took on more than one meaning.

Daenerys looked out towards the cliffs, her mind working behind her eyes. "Tell me your story, Arya Stark.

"it is not a very happy one," she answered, chuckling uneasily. When she met Daenerys' face she looked at her expectantly. "My parents died when I was young. When my father died I was taken out of King's Landing and was to be sent home, but I never made it. That day started years of fighting for survival, being kidnapped and enslaved. But, I finally made my way to a boat and to Bravos."

"Bravos?" Daenerys said, surprised.

Arya nodded her head. "Yes, I had a…a friend waiting for me."

"Valar Morguhlis."

"Valar Dohaeris," Arya responded, immediately.

She watched the woman's eyes twinkle in amusement. "It seems I've underestimated you, Arya Stark. You are the deadliest person on this island."

"Only when I must," Arya answered, smiling. Daenerys returned her smile, looking back out at Jon and Tyrion.

"So, you say this Jon Snow can be trusted. I need the North as an alliance. Would he consider an arrangement of sorts?"

Arya's smile faltered. "An arrangement?"

"He won't bend the knee, will he?"

Arya shook her head no, the blood draining from her face. "And I won't fight for him unless he does…unless…" Daenerys' eyes glazed over, as if in thought. Arya did not want to hear what she had in mind. She did not need to, for it was written on her face.

"If you will excuse me, I am not feeling so well," Arya said, rising to leave.

"I hope we can talk again. I would love to hear about your adventures in Bravos."

Arya gave her a smile in goodbye and forced herself to walk away slowly. She wanted run and never stop. Daenerys was considering marriage with Jon, even if they had just met. It was the only way both would get what they wanted.

Arya wondered down the beach, watching the waves crash in. The sound they made felt like the sound her heart made as it broke. She could not stand in the way of this happening. Jon needed Daenerys for the war to come. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she did not hear Davos approaching. He stood at her side, looking out over the sea with her.

"You look as though you are deep in a miserable thought," he said.

"Just missing home."

"Well, I do not want to be the bearer of bad news, but we must stay a little longer."

Arya turned to look at him. It was what she was afraid of. "Why?" she asked, low.

"Daenerys has given Jon permission to mine the dragonglass. And, I have permission to go to King's Landing."

Arya's eyes grew wide in surprise. "You're leaving?"

"Only for a few days. When we mine the dragonglass we will need blacksmiths to forge them into weapons. Not all of those men are on Cersei's side. And I am hoping to find one in particular. I sent him away to save his life years ago and told him to go to King's Landing. If no one joins me, I know that he will."

"Well I wish you good fortune, Ser Davos. And I hope you find this blacksmith you're searching for," she said.

Arya stood on the shores watching Davos row back to the ship. She waited until the ship was but a dot on the horizon. As she turned to leave she noticed the sky above her. Angry clouds rolled towards Dragonstone, a bad omen.

"There is a terrible storm brewing," she whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been days since Davos had left for King's Landing. Arya liked Davos, and hoped he had not run into any trouble. They were going to give him a few more days to find the blacksmiths before going after him. The man was smart, so she felt she should not worry too much.

Truth be told, she would rather worry about Davos than deal with being on this island a minute more. She wanted to leave, wanted to return to Winterfell. Over the past few days Arya had watched Daenerys and Jon get to know one another. They had walked the beach of Dragonstone for hours, talking, while she watched from her window. Several times, she had to stop herself from throwing something at Jon's head, but she knew this was the right decision. Like the shadow she was, all she did was watch.

She and Jon had not spoken very much since Davos left. She kept her distance from him and he respected that. Instead, he had turned to Daenerys. Arya should be happy, for he was creating the alliance he needed, but the first time he had made her smile was like daggers to her chest.

She had awakened before anyone else and it was her turn to take a walk. The sun had barely kissed the horizon as she looked out upon the vast sea around her. A small voice had kept her up half the night telling her to escape this place. She could still go to King's Landing and finish her list. She could even go west, as far as anyone had ever gone. But those plans were ruined now. There was a war coming, and even if Jon did not need her anymore, there were others who did. She would fight for Sansa and Bran. She would fight for those that could not fight for themselves. No, she could not just abandon everyone just to flee from her pain.

Arya walked the darkened halls of Dragonstone headed towards the gloomy room she had become quite tired of. She entered, not bothering to light the candle. Due to her training in Bravos she could see just fine in the darkness, so when she saw his shadow in the corner of the room she never reacted.

She reached the window, opening it to allow the sound of the sea inside. There would be a fight early this morning. She could feel the tension in the air. What had happened to her and Jon? How could they have let this go down the road that left them complete strangers? She wanted her Jon back. She wanted the one person that always remained in her heart, no matter what horrors she faced. Was he gone?

"She's a good match, Jon. She has a good heart for her people and together you and her will save us from the Night's King." She turned slowly towards his shadow. He never moved, but she could feel his eyes upon her. "And I understand you must do what is best for your people as well," she whispered.

Arya was grateful for the darkness, for the disguise to keep the tears in her eyes a secret. Jon stood from the chair in the corner and walked towards her. A voice inside her head begged her to run, begged her to escape before it was too late, but she was frozen in place.

He stopped a few feet from her, his face still hidden in shadow. "I want to talk about what has happened between us, Arya…please," he begged, softly.

"Nothing has happened between us."

Her words were cold and heavy, and she felt the impact they made on Jon. He flinched at her emotionless response. He walked the rest of the way to her, making Arya back away until her back hit the wall. He had her trapped like a caged bird. She searched for a way around him, but his next words stilled her movements.

"Then why are you trembling?" he asked, softly.

Arya could not blame it on the wind coming from the window, for it was going to be a hot morning. She stopped breathing when Jon's hand came towards her face, but he stopped just short of touching her. He stepped into the moonlight, giving her a chance to see his face.

There were tears in Jon's eyes. Those eyes stared at her, piercing her very soul with their sadness. His hand hovered in the air, only inches from her cheek, but he refused touch her. He took another step closer, his body so close yet so far away. It was as if there was an invisible barrier between them. A barrier neither could penetrate.

"I've never been able to forget you, even when my vows required me to. I was supposed to put aside my former life for the Night's Watch, but I could have never put you aside. Everything I saw I thought of how you would react to it, whether that was a sunset or Ygritte. The night I took my vows your face came to my mind. I thought, 'this is a way I can protect her even if I'm not with her'. When I died it was your face that welcomed me into sweet oblivion. And when I came back, it was your voice leading me to the light. You told me to get my ass up and go on living," he said, laughing through his pain.

Arya chuckled, her own pain intensifying. She felt something wet upon her cheeks and realized it was tears. How long had it been since she had cried? "When I was on the ship to Bravos, I pretended they were talking me to the Wall, to you. I tried so hard to reach you." Her words were barely audible over the strain of emotions, but Jon heard every word, his face crumbling.

Arya leaned into him, yet never touched him. She closed her eyes, imagining that he held her, imagining his arms caressing her as he tried to make her feel better. She knew what this all meant, and she knew she could not stop it.

"We can never be together, Arya. I've tried so hard to figure out a way to make this all work, but every time it leads down the same road. I can never put you through the life you would have by my side…as mine. You deserve so much better, a pure love like you felt for Gendry. I know I'm not the same Jon that left Winterfell for the Wall long ago, nor are you the same Arya, but everyone sees us as those two people. They won't understand that those people died. We are two very different people now."

"I know," she whispered, not having the strength to say anything else.

They stood in silence for what felt like an eternity. Arya could see the war raging within Jon and knew there was more to say. Jon did not need to speak them, however, for she already knew. It was the reason she wanted to leave this place so badly.

"I need you to know that everything I do from this point on I do for you. It's always been you, Arya…here," he said, placing his hand over his heart. "I love you, I do," he whispered, a small sob leaving his mouth as he said the words, but he still refused to touch her.

"I love you," she whispered back.

"Then, that is all I need. That is all I will ever need," he said. "Daenerys and I are going to be married. We both need the alliance and the way to do that is through marriage."

Arya closed her eyes, her tears coming faster. In a way, it felt as if Jon were leaving her…just like Gendry. She wanted to scream at him, scream her pain until he felt as helpless as she did. Arya knew this would happen, yet she felt as if she were not prepared. The pain in her heart spread through her body, making it hard to catch her breath.

"Please, Arya…please, do not cry," Jon, begged. Still, his hand never touched her. The invisible barrier between them grew thicker. "If I could change who I am I would do it for you. I would become whoever I needed to be to make this work, to be with you, but who am I if not Eddard Stark's bastard, and who are you if not Eddard Stark's trueborn daughter."

Jon shook with a mixture of despair and rage. His words were daggers shooting into her chest, piercing her heart. He would have done better to have just grabbed Longclaw and drove it straight through her chest.

"Marry her," Arya said, finishing the final nail in their coffin. "You need her help, and she needs the alliance. Both of you win."

Jon shook his head, fighting against those words, but did not argue her point. Arya slowly turned from him, staring out the window. It was her way of letting go, of turning away from him. The longer they stood there, so close, the harder it would be to let this thing between them end.

It felt like hours before Jon left her to her thoughts. She climbed into her bed and drifted off to a dream of two men tugging her in different directions. She dreamed of Gendry's intense gaze and Jon's soft touch. When Arya awoke a few hours later she felt as though she had gotten no sleep. Her head felt fuzzy and her heart heavy.

She dressed, as if in a daze, before walking to the window to close it, but stopped short. There was a ship anchored out on the sea. Davos was back. That meant that they could finally go home. The ache for Winterfell grew to new heights.

Arya hurried from the room and down the darkened hallway. She could hear voices coming from the throne room and made her way towards the door. When she pulled it open she froze as every pair of eyes turned to look at her. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, falling to Daenerys. She sat atop her stoned throne. Jon was at her side, his eyes on Arya. As soon as she saw where he stood she looked away. The pieces were falling together, and their union was taking shape. Even as it caused her pain she could not deny they made a powerful couple.

The next person she saw was Davos. He was surrounded by several men, all burly and large. Those must have been the blacksmiths he talked of. He looked at her, giving her a wink. She welcomed him back with a smile. Someone moved to his left, catching her attention. They had slowly turned completely around to face her while everyone else looked at Daenerys and Jon.

She traveled up his muscular legs and torso, his clothing new and expensive. His chest was wide and strong, as strong as the arms hanging at his side. Before she looked upon his face, she heard his voice. It was a voice that had haunted her in her dreams for years. It was the voice of a ghost, of a memory. The owner of that voice had been snatched away from her, but she heard the voice in the light of day instead of in the darkness of a cold, lonely night.

Arya looked into the newcomer's face and for the longest time nothing seemed to register. She had to be dreaming, had to be still in the bed upstairs. Those eyes were eyes she dared not believe she would ever see again. Blue eyes, the same color of the ocean outside her window, grew wide in shock. She saw his body jerk back, as if pulled back by a string.

She took in his handsome face. The strength in his jawline, in his nose and forehead. The person standing before her had changed into a man. When the man's name whispered across her memory Arya opened her mouth and gasped. It could not be. The memory of him riding away from her, forever lost, played over and over. He was dead. He was standing before her. He was murdered. He was alive.

"Arya?" he said, his voice deep. She watched him take a tentative step towards her, the blood draining from his beautiful face. It could not be. He was alive. The words ran over and over like a broken record. All of these years he had been alive.

"Gendry?" Arya whispered, her vision blurring.

As if the sound of his name coming from her lips awakened him, Gendry hurried towards Arya. Everything and everyone was forgotten in that moment, except the man coming towards her. He did not slow, but walked right up to her and wrapped his strong arms around her.

She was engulfed in his scent, in his presence, and she closed her eyes and took him in. Gendry was here. Gendry was alive. He walked from her dreams and into the light of day, and he held her tightly to him as she had always wanted him to do.

"I've spent four years trying to find you. Four years trying to fight my way back to you. I'm so sorry, Arya." His words were rushed, emotional, as he fought to get them out. She clung to him, as if he were the only thing keeping her grounded.

She leaned back, coming face to face with a much handsomer Gendry than she could remember. His eyes were still a striking blue, but the boyish looks had turned rugged. He smiled at her, taking the very breath from her body.

"You're alive," she said, softly.

"I'm alive," he answered, wrapping her in a warm embrace again. "And I've thought of nothing else but finding you. When Davos told me who had sent for me I remember you telling me Jon Snow was your brother. I didn't hesitate to take Davos up on his offer. I hoped against the gods it would lead me to you."

Arya closed her eyes, tightening her hold around him. Gendry was alive, her mind said over and over. Gendry had always been alive. That realization struck her in the chest, hard. Her eyes opened and she watched as Jon walked slowly towards them, until he stopped a few feet away. He watched her, turning his eyes from her to Gendry, until understanding dawned in his features, hitting him like a bolt of lightening. The moment it hit him who Gendry was she saw anger and jealously burning straight through him.

Arya buried her face in Gendry's chest, refusing to look at Jon anymore. How was it that she was being torn apart and put back together…and it was all happening at once.


	8. Chapter 8

Arya watched Gendry sleep. His chest rose and fell slowly as his face took on a relaxed look. She roamed over his dark hair, the way it fell down his forehead, just the way she remembered. Slowly, she reached out and softly pushed the black tendrils away from his closed eyes. Gendry did not move a muscle. It still had not hit her that he was alive, yet here he was sleeping soundly.

They had not had much time to talk. The shock had not quite worn off, and by the time Arya could think straight Gendry looked like death on his feet. She had insisted he sleep, but he had put up a fight, wanting to spend time with her. She had to promise him she would lay beside him as he slept, but she was no where near sleep. Her lips twitched in a small smile when he began to snore softly.

"Bull-headed boy" she whispered. Arya leaned down and kissed his forehead where she had just moved his hair away.

She rose from the bed and walked towards the door. She needed to clear her head, and what better way to do that then to practice the water dance. She tip-toed through the hallway to keep from waking anyone. On she walked, until she stood on a cliff overlooking the sea. The waves crashed against the shore rattling the silence of the night.

Seeing Gendry again brought back old memories that had been tucked away in their little box inside her head. Now, they were unleashed with a fury that almost knocked her to the ground. She saw Yoren die over and over. She saw Lommey take a blade to the throat. Over and over horrors played inside her mind.

Harrenhal…that horrible place with it's stench of death that almost swallowed her and Gendry whole. The ghosts from her past slithering from the darkness grabbed a hold of her. She swung Needle with a fury unlike she had never felt. All this time, Gendry had been alive. He had never given up on her, yet she had given up on him. By doing so she allowed another into her heart. Both men, Jon and Gendry, waged their own war inside of her. Tugging and pulling, she felt their presence in her heart breaking her in two.

"Arya?"

She turned, suddenly, Needle stretched out before her. Jon stood before her, watching her with a dark look upon his face. She felt her heart jump into her throat, felt a pull so strong towards him she forced herself to take a step back. Jon stood still, not taking a step towards her, but he reached his hand out for her to take.

"You're too close to the edge, Arya. Take my hand." His words were as soft as silk. She really was too close to the edge, in more ways than one.

Arya did not reach for his hand. She took a step away from the edge without his help. Jon's face fell, but he dropped his hand to his side. For what felt like forever they stood in darkness and silence. She looked around, everywhere except to Jon, but his eyes bore into hers.

"He's alive." Arya finally looked at Jon, his eyes looking out over the sea. He said the words as if he were coming to grips with the truth. "I have spent the last few hours trying to sleep, but it seems there is too much on my mind. I assume it's the same for you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Jon nodded. "We have enough blacksmiths to forge the dragonglass. Tomorrow, we will start the extraction process. I've asked Dany to allow us to do our work in Winterfell. She's agreed, but she wants to come as well."

Arya flinched. "Dany?" she asked, scoffing. She began to leave, but Jon stepped in her path. Arya stopped just short of running into him. "Yes, Dany. That is her name. Why does it matter to you what I call her anymore. Gendry's back from the dead." He spoke with venom in his words. Arya struck him, hard, in the face. The momentum drove Jon to his left, opening up a way for Arya to escape, but before she could he recovered.

Jon grabbed her by the arms and pulled her towards him. His face was inches from her own, the red mark visible on his cheek where her fist had landed. Needle dropped from her hand leaving her at his mercy.

"Striking a king is death."

"Do it, then," she spat back.

His eyes searched her face, the anger within them shining in the moonlight. His hands slowly lowered to his side and he took a step back, giving them both room to calm down. "What would you say if I asked you to leave this place with me? Just you and me. We could go anywhere you wanted, as far west as we could get. Would you?"

Arya was taken aback by his question. Jon, again, looked out towards the sea, as if planning this big escape. She turned, looking out across the vast sea as well. She envisioned a boat, and on that boat were the very last two people alive. They could sail until their was no water left to sail upon. They could escape together, never having to fear being separated. But, there was always a shadow following them. No matter where they ended up, this shadow would be there until it devoured them.

"Maybe in another life we do escape. Maybe in that life we find what we need together. But, in this life we have nowhere to run. In this life, we stay here and fight."

She felt Jon shift until he stood right behind her. The heat from his body surrounded her, and she cursed her body for reacting. "I am jealous of him, Arya. He gets to touch you freely, and the thought of that has kept me up all night."

"Stop it, Jon," she whispered, begged.

His hand tenderly guided up her arm, causing her eyes to close. "This should be me every time. But, it's not going to be, is it? I saw the relief when you saw him standing there alive. In one moment I was replaced. Just one moment."

Arya turned around, anger swimming in her eyes. He had no right to say these things. He had no right to make her feel shamed. Jon knew what Gendry's death had done to her. She would never feel bad for being thankful he was alive. Besides, he had agreed to marry Daenerys before they even knew Gendry was alive.

"You hypocrite. Why don't you run back to your future bride. Yes, I was relieved. Yes, I am thankful that Gendry is asleep in my bed and not ashes. You cannot make me feel bad about that!"

Arya bent down and grabbed Needle. She was through with this conversation. "Arya," Jon said, miserably. She ignored him, walking back towards the castle. "I don't want him to take my place!" Jon screamed.

Arya froze, his voice bouncing off the rocks around them. It was loud enough to wake everyone in the castle. She jerked around and marched straight back to him.

"He can never take your place," she seethed. "If you are worried that I have all of a sudden forgotten my feelings for you, you are stupider than I thought. But, you cannot take his place either. Both of you are here," she cried, beating against her heart.

She turned, leaving Jon with those words, those truths. And it was true. Both Gendry and Jon had a piece of her heart, and it would be the death of her.

Later that day, after Arya was able to sleep for a few hours, she ventured out towards the caves where the men worked. Unsullied, Dothraki, blacksmith and Jon's men worked side by side to mine the dragonglass. Daenerys and Missandei watched the men work, and Arya walked towards the women to stand by them.

Every man who walked out was covered in black soot and dirt. She barely recognized Jon without his cape and armor. He looked less a king and more a vagabond. She turned away from him when his eyes roamed over to where she was standing. That morning's events played in her mind causing her to feel angry again.

The next person to come out got her attention quickly. Gendry carried a large basket over his head, his torso bare for her to see. He was covered like the rest of the men, but it seemed to suit him better. His body had become lean and stronger over the years. She could not deny that he looked really good, nor could she deny that her body reacted to him instantly. He spotted her and smiled. Arya smiled back.

"You were acquainted with that one before he arrived, no?" Daenerys asked.

"I was. We…we have a history together."

"Ser Davos Seaworth has told me some interesting things about this blacksmith. He is more than meets the eye."

Arya turned to Daenerys, ignoring the tinge of jealous that the woman knew something about Gendry that she did not. Daenerys did not notice the anger in Arya's face…or did she. She smiled at Arya. "It seems the blacksmith is more than he lets on to be."

With that, Daenerys and Missandei walked back to the castle, leaving Arya in confusion. Gendry sat the basket on the ground and walked towards Arya. When he reached her he bowed.

"M'lady," he said, his eyes dancing in laughter.

"Shut up," she said, only half serious.

"Have you seen inside the cave? All that dragonglass?"

Arya shook her head no. Gendry nodded his head towards the cave, "Come. I will show you around."

Arya followed close behind him. They stepped into the shadow of the cave, the air thick with dirt and soot. The men paid her no attention as Gendry led her further into the cave. The only one to look up was Jon, but he just stood and stared at them. She chose to ignore him.

They came to a large clearing. Arya turned slowly in a circle, her mouth opened at what she saw. All around her, from top to bottom, dragonglass sat in stone. It glimmered in the faint light of the fires that burned for light. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

"There is more dragonglass here than we will ever need. We just found a way to win this war," Gendry said.

"You believe what is coming, Gendry?"

"At first, no. But, I trust Davos. He saved my life, and if he needed me to mine this entire cave I would."

Arya walked around, her hands gliding on the smooth surface of the dragonglass. She felt hope build within her. If it was true that dragonglass defeated the White Walkers then their chances had just gone way up. When she turned back around Gendry was standing right in front of her. She froze, raising her eyes to his. Those blue orbs were hooded and dark. His hand reached for her cheek, caressing her softly. Her body reacted immediately, as she leaned in to his touch.

"So beautiful," he whispered.

Slowly, he leaned down towards her, until his lips were inches from her own. His arms slithered around her, softly pulling her to his hard chest. Arya wrapped her arms around his neck, waiting…wanting. His lips touched her, the faintest of touches. Her mind exploded, her senses awakening. When she did not pull away Gendry deepened the kiss.

All at once, everything was forgotten except the pressure on her lips. Arya opened her mouth for Gendry, moaning into his mouth as his tongue slipped inside. His hand reached for the back of her head, leaving her no way to escape. She did not want to escape. He picked her up, slamming her against the dragonglass, the pain only intensifying the moment.

Gendry pulled away, their breaths mingling as one. He laid his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath to relax the tension she felt swimming all around his body.

"I have wanted to do that for years," he whispered.

Arya chuckled. "What stopped you, you big bull."

Gendry took a long sigh, his face falling. "I did not think I was good enough, Arya. I still do not feel like I am worthy of you, but I would like the chance to be. We are two different people, I understand that, but if you will allow me I would like to get to know you again. I would like you to get to know who I am now."

"Yes," she whispered, causing the most breathtaking smile to break out on his face.

"Okay, then. Hi, my name is Gendry Waters. I come from King's Landing and I am the last known bastard son or trueborn son of Robert Baratheon."

Arya's eyes grew wide, her mouth coming open to speak, but Gendry was torn away from her. She hit the ground, hard, without his body there to keep her up. Arya looked up just in time to see Jon's fist make contact with Gendry's face.


	9. Chapter 9

Arya struggled to her feet as Jon and Gendry went at each other. Jon had him by the throat, ready to hit him again, when Gendry gained the upper hand and pushed Jon away from him. Jon did not hesitate to launch himself back at Gendry, but this time he was ready. Knuckles met face as Gendry knocked Jon back with the force of his blow.

Both men had blood dripping from the sides of their mouths. They stared at one another, anger and rage boiling from their bodies. The moment Jon reached for Longclaw Arya jump in his path. She held out her hands, causing Jon to still his movements. The look in his eyes was one she had never see before.

"Gendry, please leave. I need a word…with my brother." She said the words without looking away from Jon, afraid he would attack before she could stop him.

Gendry hesitated a moment before turning and walking out of the cave. Jon's hand slowly dropped from his sword, his angered eyes watching Gendry leave. Arya was stunned at Jon's actions, so much so that she could only stare at him for what seemed like an eternity. He shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding her stare at all costs.

"Have you lost your mind?" she finally said, in a hoarse whisper.

The anger melted away from his features, which left him looking like a child who was being scolded. Suddenly, the truth hit Arya square in the chest. She was doing this to him. She was driving him mad, as he was doing the same to her. She was destroying him with each breath she took.

Jon backed up towards the wall of dragonglass and slid to the ground. There, he lay his head in his hands. Arya could do nothing but watch. She could do nothing but come face to face with the sobering truth that she was destroying one of the most important people in her life.

"I do not know what came over me," Jon whispered.

Arya took slow steps towards him before falling to her knees. His head slowly raised. The loathing she saw within his dark eyes made her wince.

"What have I done to you?" she whispered.

Jon reached his hand out, wanting her to take it. She stared at his hand, her body begging to touch him, yet she knew she could not. They had chosen not to go down this road over and over again, yet they always found themselves at this exact place. A place of hurt and pain.

"What are we doing here, Jon? Why are mining the dragonglass?" she asked.

His eyes turned clearer at once. She saw the soldier within him take charge again. The one who had fought and killed a White Walker was back in the forefront of his mind. "There is a war coming," he answered her, softly.

Arya nodded, standing to her feet and walking out of the cave. She left Jon right where he was, for she did not have the strength to touch him. Arya needed to escape him as fast as she could. She passed the men mining, none of them paying her any attention. All she could think about was what she was doing to Jon, and what he was doing to her. They were slowly killing one another.

She stepped out into the bright sunlight, stopping to give her eyes time to adjust. "Your brother is a real charmer."

Arya turned abruptly, not realizing someone was behind her. Gendry was there, his lip still bleeding. "That looks as though it hurts," Arya said, walking towards him.

"I have had worse," he said, smiling.

Arya reached out, softly touching the offended area. Gendry winced, but did not try to stop her. "You need to get that seen about."

"I am okay, Arya. I will wear it proudly, although I am not sure why I received it in the first place."

"You had me in the cave…alone, and you were kissing me, you know."

"And you were kissing me back," he responded, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

Arya looked away, her cheeks burning hot. Yes, she had kissed him back and enjoyed it very much. But, her heart was heavy.

"Gendry, I…" she started.

"Take a walk with me?" he said, interrupting her.

She turned back to him, giving him a small nod of her head. Gendry reached down and intertwined his hand with her. The feel of his warm hand soothed her torn heart. He lead her down the stony path onto the beach. At first, they walked in silence, both lost in their thoughts.

"I have been rehearsing the apology I would give you for four years now. But, it seems there are no words that accurately describe the total fuck up I made," Gendry said, softly.

"Gendry, you do not have to do this."

He stopped, turning towards her. The intensity on his face made her catch her breath. "Yes I do. When you needed me most, I let you down."

"You could not have stopped what happened, Gendry. The Red Witch took you."

Gendry shook his head, sighing. "That is not what I am talking about. You wanted me to go with you, to be your family. I took the gift you were laying at my feet and shoved it back in your face. The truth was, Arya, I did not want to be separated from you. I wanted to go with you, but I wanted to go as someone who could stand by your side. I have spent these past four years stuck in a constant cycle of your face when I refused. It has haunted me day and night."

He slowly caressed her face, the sensation sending chills down her body. "I wanted to be worthy of you, Arya. Back then, I thought that meant being more than just a bastard. I thought it meant I had to make something of myself, something more than what this lot in life forced upon me. But, now I realize that the way to be worthy of you is to stand with you, beside you. I have nothing, no wealth, not even a name to give you, but I can give you this." Gendry guided Arya's hand to his heart. She felt the strong beat of it under her palm. "It is not much, I know, but if you can ever forgive me for letting you down I will spend my days making it up to you."

Arya wrapped her arms around Gendry, her mind in overload. His words overwhelmed her. "You have no idea the things I have done. The girl you remember is dead. She died years ago, and the person in her place is not a pretty one. My past is brutal. I will only destroy you," she whispered. Her mind went to Jon, to what she was doing to him. She would do the same to Gendry.

"It is not the girl I remember that I am asking forgiveness from. I fucked everything up with her to the point I realize I lost her. All I am asking is that you allow me to get to know you again. Let me prove to you that I am here for good this time. Whatever demons you have, we will fight them together. Whatever you have been through, let me share it with you."

Arya leaned back, meeting his blue eyes. The sound of crashing waves reminded her of the battle inside her own soul. She could not destroy this man, yet she could not walk away. She was tired of running, tired of feeling nothing.

"I forgive you." She said, so softly.

Gendry smiled, leaning forward and resting his forehead upon hers. "That is all I need for now. The rest will come in time. So," he said, pulling away from her, "My name is, Gendry Waters. It is very nice to make your acquaintance, M'lady. I am the bastard son of Robert Baratheon, and I came to this place to fight the war that is coming. And, if it pleases M'lady I would really like to get to know you."

"The bastard son of Robert Baratheon? Gendry, how do you know this?" she said, stunned. She remembered the king all too well. In her mind, he was the reason her father was dead.

"The Red Witch told me. It is way she wanted me, for my King's blood. She took me to my uncle Stannis. I was used to help his efforts in the war."

"I am so sorry," Arya said, saddened for Gendry. He shrugged her off, as if it were no big deal, but she could see the hurt in his eyes. The only family he had met had tried to kill him.

"Yes, well, Davos saved me. He broke me out and put me in a boat, told me to row until I made it back to King's Landing. So, that is what I did. Ever since then I have been forging weapons for the Lannisters, until Davos showed back up and few days ago and brought me here."

"That is why the Gold Cloaks wanted you. You were the King's son…a threat," Arya said.

"That seems to be right. But they never got me, did they," he said, smiling.

"No. And you went back to King's Landing. Right under Cersei's nose." Arya laughed. It felt so good, for she had not laughed that hard in years. But, her smile fell. Gendry was Robert's son, though he was a bastard he still posed a threat. Not only a threat to Cersie, but to both Daenerys and Jon. Look how far Jon had climbed being the bastard son of Eddard Stark.

"I know what you are thinking, Arya," he said, giving her a sideways smirk. "I have no desire to be king. Even if I was legitimized I would not want the throne. That is not who I am. I do not want that life."

"What life do you want?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

Gendry slowed, until they both came to a stop. He turned to her, the intensity back on his face. Arya felt it swirl around her, blanketing her. He took her face in his hands, leaning down. His lips softly brushed hers, taking her breath away for the second time.

"I want a quiet life. A quiet life where two people who have been through so much shit in their lives can finally have some peace. If we survive this war let me give that to you," he whispered, against her lips.

"You might regret it," she said.

Gendry smiled, kissing her softly again. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to his chest. "It will be worth the regret."

They spent the rest of the day walking the beach of Dragonstone. They talked of the past, of Hotpie and Lommey. Arya told Gendry about seeing Hotpie again. "He is doing well for himself."

"Are the pies still as good as I remember?" he asked.

"Better," she answered, chuckling.

They spoke of Harenhall, but only briefly. It seemed both still struggled with ghosts given to them by that horrid place.

"What happened to you…after I was taken?" Gendry asked, sometime later.

"That can be a story for another time. It is getting late," Arya answered, not ready to tell him of her horrors. Gendry did not push, but accepted that Arya was not ready to tell him.

As they turned back for the castle, she saw someone walk towards them. The moment she recognized Jon, Arya tensed. She gently released Gendry's hand, taking a step away from him. His eyes bore into her, no doubt trying to figure out what caused her sudden coldness.

"It was getting late, so I thought I would come make sure everything was alright," Jon said, not quite meeting her eyes.

"She is in good hands, I assure you, Your Grace," Gendry answered.

The two men turned to face each other, the air around them growing thick with tension. They sized one another up without a word spoken for the longest time. The peace Arya felt evaporated.

"Gendry, am I right?" Jon asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," he answered.

"We have never had the privilege of meeting, so forgive me if I do not trust your judgement of what is safe for her."

"Jon…" Arya said, warning him.

Gendry took a step, but stopped when Arya grabbed his arm. "With all due respect, Your Grace, I spent three years protecting her."

Jon smiled, yet it held no warmth. His eyes shifted to Arya briefly and then back to Gendry. "I am grateful for all that you did for my…for Arya. I will forever be in your debt. I apologize for my behavior earlier. The mine is no place for her…too dangerous."

Jon's apology was too rehearsed, too cold, to be true. Gendry chose to ignore it. "There is no need for apologies, Your Grace."

Jon turned his attention to Arya, dismissing Gendry. "I need to speak with you."

Arya sighed, but nodded her head. She turned to Gendry. He gave her arm a squeeze and nodded his head. He strolled towards Jon, but as he walked passed he stopped right beside him. The two men stared at one another for a few moments before Gendry continued his walk to the castle. Jon turned and watched him, until he disappeared up the stoned steps.

Without a word, Jon walked up to Arya and grabbed her arm. He pulled her towards one of the caves not yet mined by his men. She allowed him to pull her, yet her mind was screaming for her to stop. Her heart refused to listen.

The cave was dark, for there were no fires burning to lead their way. Jon seemed as though he needed no light, and he guided them deeper into the cave. When they came to a stop, Arya opened her mouth to speak, but did not get a chance to say a word.

Jon pushed her against the wall of the cave, the same way Gendry had earlier. His lips crashed upon hers, swallowing whatever words she was about to say. At first, she tried to push him off, but as he deepened the kiss her body began to react. The fists that were beating against his chest relaxed and wrapped themselves around his neck , bringing him closer to her. Jon responded immediately, grabbing the back of her head and pushing himself against her.

Arya devoured everything he gave her. Every touch, every lick of his tongue inside her mouth. He called forth inside her a raw animalistic surge she had never felt before. It was as if drowning in a madness too sweet to deny. She wanted more…needed more. But, this was wrong.

Arya jerked back, her eyes growing wide in the darkness. Jon allowed her to break free, as she turned her back on him. Arya could not catch her breath, could not make her heart slow.

"Arya," Jon called to her, his voice quivering.

"No," she breathed. "You do not get to do this, Jon! You made your choice, and now I am making mine," she whispered.

"You are my choice," he said, broken.

"Daenerys is your choice!" Arya shot back, turning back around.

Jon stepped close, his breath fanning her face. "You. Are. My. Choice," he said again. Arya was trapped the moment his lips touched her again. Drowning. Sinking. Trapped in the feel of him surrounding her, becoming her.

She tore away from him again, pushing herself from the wall and putting distance between them. This was killing them. She could feel it in the way he kissed her. Jon was losing himself, and she was following. If she did not escape it they would both be lost. There was only one thing to do, one thing that could save them both. One thing that could save Gendry.

"I am leaving, Jon. I am going home to Winterfell and you are staying here," she said, broken. With that, she turned from him and left him standing in the darkness of the cave.


	10. Chapter 10

"You are running away!" Jon said, following her out of the cave. He was close on her heels, his anger spilling out of him.

"I am not running!" she seethed.

"Yes, you are! You are running from what is happening. You are taking the craven's way out."

She turned on him, forcing him to stop abruptly. He watched her, uncertain if she would strike him again. Arya had to admit she considered it. "I am not a craven, Jon Snow. You know nothing of what I am! I am leaving to save us both, and you are too stupid to see what is happening. How can you win this war when you are so distracted by what is happening between us? I will get you killed."

Jon looked down at his feet, as if the words she spoke shamed him. It was proof enough for her that she had spoken truth. "Jon…" she whispered, desperate for him to look at her.

"I am trying here, Arya. I know what is coming, and I know it deserves every second of my attention. I have not lost sight of that. Do you want me to show I do not care? Do you want me to walk away for good? Say the words, Arya. Tell me to let you go and I will try everything in my power to do just that. But, I need to hear that is what you want."

Arya opened and closed her mouth several times. The words were there, words that would resolve this between her and Jon, yet she could not get them passed her tongue. She swallowed, realizing it was a loss cause. She could not tell him to walk away, for there was a part of her that needed him like she needed air to breathe.

"Tell me to walk away, Arya…say it," he whispered.

"…no," she breathed.

Jon's eyes darkened. "Then, I will fight for you. He will never know you like I do. He could never give you what I could."

"Jon, you cannot give me anything, you said so yourself. You have chosen to marry Daenerys. Would you keep me in shadows just to quench your thirst? Is that what I am to you? You will marry her, yet run to my bed in darkness? You are a man of honor, so be that man!" Arya seethed.

"You know you mean more than that!"

"Then, it is Gendry causing this sudden change of feelings?" Arya said, angered.

Jon had no answer, which made Arya more angry. She walked up to him, wanting him to feel her emotions.

"I cannot tell you to walk away, and you know that I cannot. You know how I feel. That has not changed, nor will it ever. I love you, Jon," she whispered. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes. But I know I cannot be with you. I am going home before we destroy one another for good. I am going home before that love between us turns to hate."

Someone cleared their throat behind them, causing Arya and Jon to turn suddenly. Davos watched them, his face giving nothing away of what he felt. "This came for you," he said, handing Jon a sealed scroll.

Jon opened the scroll and read what it said. He did not speak for a long time, his eyes growing distant and glazed. He was trapped in his thoughts, in whatever was on the scroll.

"I need everyone together," he said, walking off without a glance back.

Arya watched him, a feeling of dread filling the pit of her stomach.

"I know that look," Davos said, beside her. "whatever it says is not good."

Arya agreed completely. Together, she and Davos walked the stony steps towards the castle and towards Daenerys war room. By they time they arrived everyone was present. Daenerys sat at the head of a large table in the shape of Westeros. She was surrounded by her people. Jon stood across from her. They stared at one another with an intensity that caused Arya to look away.

Someone stepped up behind her, lightly touching her arm. Arya turned and saw Gendry at her side. He gave her a small smile. "Is everything alright?" he asked, softly.

"I do not know," she answered.

When the last of their group slipped in, Jon told them of what the sealed scroll said. It was from Bran, and his words stopped the hearts of the people listening. The army of the Dead were marching towards the wall, and they were closer than anyone thought.

"Now is the time we must all come together. We can not afford to be separate," Jon said.

"Tell that to my sister," Tyrion said.

"As much as we do not like to admit, we need her alliance."

Everyone turned their stunned eyes to Jon. His words hung in the air like smoke. Cersie would never join them.

"And, how do you propose that we get her on our side?" Daenerys asked.

Jon hesitated, as if not knowing how to answer. "We make her believe," Tyrion said, finally.

Everyone turned to the Queen's Hand, their faces wearing the same mask of confusion.

"I do not think she will come see the Dead at my invitation," Jon replied.

"No, probably not. But, what if you brought the Dead to her?"

"I thought we were trying to avoid that scenario," Daenerys said.

"We do not bring them all…just one soldier." Tyrion turned hopeful eyes to Jon, as if hoping he would get it.

Everyone sat silently, thinking about the plan Tyrion was hatching. He wanted them to catch a Wright. Was that even possible? It would mean grave danger for the fools who agreed to go out and do the job.

"I will go. You wanted me to find a cure to serve you, so let me serve you," Jorah Mormont said, to his queen. Arya watched her, watched the way the blood drained from her face. There was fear in her eyes, fear for this man.

"The Wildlings are not going to follow you," Davos stated.

"No, they will not. But, they will follow me."

Arya slowly closed her eyes, a sudden fit of nausea ceased her. The moment Tyrion's plan came to light she felt that dread build. Now, it screamed within her. Jon had just volunteered himself for this suicide mission. She opened her mouth to protest, not caring that people would see her fear. She did not get the chance.

"I will go too. I am not going to sit by and wait for this war to come to me."

Arya's eyes flew open, turning on Gendry. He refused to meet her eyes. He was going as well. Jon watched him for a moment, cutting his eyes to Arya.

"I can use all the help I can get," Jon answered. It felt as both of them drove a sword through her chest. She would lose both of them.

"If that is the case, count me in," Arya said, causing everyone to stare openly at her. "You have seen me fight. I can take care of myself."

"No!" Both Gendry and Jon said together.

"I can do it! I have spent seven years battling to stay alive. I am one of the best fighters in this room. I am going," she said, angered.

"I cannot allow you to do this, Arya," Jon said, his eyes willing her to listen.

"I am not asking for your permission. There is another in this room that can agree to this."

Arya turned to Daenerys. The woman watched her, contemplating what Arya was asking of her. If she gave her blessing for Arya to join there was nothing Jon could do. He would not go against Daenerys orders, for fear of losing her help.

"You know what the odds of surviving this is, do you not?" Daenerys asked.

"I do. I am willing to take that chance."

"Arya, this is crazy. Stop this, now," Gendry whispered. She would not.

"Very well. I know your background in training with the Faceless Men. I have no doubt of your skills. Are you absolutely sure?"

"I am, Your Grace," Arya answered, hopeful.

"With all due respect, Daenerys, this is my decision. I will be leading this group and I say who goes."

"Either I go with you, or I go out on my own to follow. Take your pick," Arya shot back.

Jon turned on her, his rage in plan sight. "She can go as my representative, along with Ser Jorah. If this is a problem perhaps we can drop the idea all together," Daenerys said, unaware of the war raging between Jon and Arya. "Now, if that is settled…" She started to rise, but Jon spoke.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered, turning to Arya. "Are you trying to punish me?"

Arya shook her head. No, this was not about punishments. This was about her standing with Jon and Gendry. She could not be left behind to wonder if they were dying. It would tear her to pieces. She could do this. It was dangerous, but she was used to danger.

She turned away from him, walking out of the room without another word. Arya headed straight to her room, locking the door to keep both Gendry and Jon out. She knew the discussion was not over, but she would not have it tonight. She sat on her bed, sighing deeply, as the waves of tension assaulted her. The army of the Dead. There was denying she felt a slither of fear at the notion of coming face to face with them.

There was a soft knock on the door. Arya looked up, not moving. When the person knocked harder, Arya got to her feet and walked towards the door, opening it slightly. Gendry stood there, his face worried.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

She pulled the door open, allowing him to walk through. Just as she was about to close it, Jon appeared. He had seen Gendry walk in her room, seen he had been beaten. His hands balled into fists, but he turned and walked away…quickly.

When she turned her attention back to Gendry she noticed the way he stood, as if barely containing his rage. He stared at her, eyes of icy blue. She stood before him, her chin raised high in defiance. She was no longer a child, but a deadly fighter. He and Jon needed to get used to that, and they needed all the help they could get.

"Should I even bother?" Gendry said, low.

"No. I am coming and that is final. The Queen is given me her blessing."

"You do not even…" he began, his rage intensifying. After a long sigh, he continued in control. "You do not even follow her. Your brother is your king."

"Not in this," Arya said, continuing to remain calm.

Gendry paced the room, mumbling to himself. Arya gave him space to come to terms with her decision. When he finally came to a stop, his eyes raised to her...his worry evident. She saw none of the rage that had been there earlier.

He walked towards her, wrapping his arms around her. For a moment she did not respond, but her arms snaked around him on their own accord.

"At least stay close to me, okay?" Gendry whispered.

Arya leaned back, searching his face. He gave her a small smile, but it held so much fear it stole her breath. She reached up to touch his face, gently running the tips of her fingers over his lips and nose. He closed his eyes as she ran her fingers over his closed eyelids. He sighed, as if her touch healed his worries.

"Are you tired?" he asked her.

"No," she answered, softly, taking his face in her hands. She gently pulled him towards her, their lips meeting for the briefest of moments.

There was no fire or passion like with Jon, but what she felt when he kissed her was just as powerful. She felt safe. She felt whole. She felt as if she were home.

"Then, we do not have to sleep," he whispered, against her lips. "We do not ever have to sleep again." Gendry picked Arya up and slowly walked her to the bed, his lips gently kissing her face.

He touched her as if he feared he would break her. His hand gently skimmed down her cheek towards her neck. Two fingers touched her skin in a dance of sensuality. Arya reacted immediately, moaning softly.

As his fingers traveled down her arm, Gendry bent forward and kissed the inside of her neck. Arya arched her back, feeling consuming her. She reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head. Before her was a chest of perfection with black hair soft to her touch. His skin was dark, as if kissed by the sun. Underneath her palms she felt his heart hammering wildly. Strong muscles rippled like water underneath her touch.

She leaned up, trailing kisses all over his chest. Gendry grabbed the back of her head, supporting her. He pulled her face to his, giving her a deeper kiss. Arya felt as if she was drowning. Her feelings were scattered and screaming. She tried to ignore them, but that only made them louder in her head. Confusion took her under, refusing to release her.

Arya broke the kiss, turning her head away as to not see the disappointment in Gendry's eyes. The truth was that she wanted this, but it would not be fair to Gendry when another was on her mind as well. She wanted to give herself to Gendry, but she did not want him to have to share…not when it came to this. She felt his touch, smelled his smell, yet Jon's face was ever present.

She pushes herself from under him and he gave way, allowing her to move. She sat on the edge of the bed, tears in her eyes. She loved them both. She wanted them both. She did not deserve either. Gendry pulled his shirt back on without a word. She watched him as he moved, not trying to hide her tears. She wanted him to be the one. She wanted to give him everything. He was her Gendry.

When he was done, he looked at her. For a moment they just stared, but slowly and small smile played upon Gendry's lips. He wrapped his arm around her, kissing the top of her head.

"When you are ready, I will be waiting. If you are not ever ready to have that kind of relationship with me, well…I will still be waiting. I swore to you I was not going anywhere, and I meant every word."

"You are too good for me," Arya said, her voice hoarse.

"I am just right for you. I just have to wait until you realize it."

Deep into the night Arya lay wide awake. Beside her, Gendry snored softly, his face full of peace. She watched him, willing herself to forget Jon, willing herself to let go of an impossibility. She could be with Gendry, and be happy…content. They could have a good life, but there would always be this cloud over their heads. She would always see another's face when she closed her eyes, and the sad part was it was the same with Jon. Both men would make her happy, but neither man could replace the other.

Arya eased from the bed as to not wake him. She bent down, kissing his cheek. "I do love you, more than you know, but I need to give you every part of me and I can not do that right now. He needs me, and I need him. I am a horrible person, because I do not want to lose you, but neither can I give myself to you fully. I am horrible that I pray you wait."

By the time she was done, tears ran down her cheeks. She turned away from Gendry and hurried out of the room before her cries woke him. She never saw him open his eyes, never saw the way his face crumbled. She had no idea he had heard every word she had said.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, Arya found herself on a ship taking her towards Eastwatch. Jon had barely looked at her the whole time, and Gendry was nowhere to be found for hours. She was alone with her thoughts, watching as the seas drifted them further from Dragonstone. She felt someone come to stand beside her. Arya looked over thinking it would be Jon or Gendry, but she was surprised to see Jorah Mormont.

He stared out over the vast ocean, the wind whipping his hair around in all directions. She waited for him to speak, but the minutes rolled by in silence. She decided he just needed some air, not conversation, when he spoke.

"I am impressed with what little fear you carry, M'lady. There are grown men who would never agree to go out beyond the Wall. It will be a honor to fight beside you."

Arya was taken by surprise at his words. Emotions sprang up, making it hard to speak. Jorah understood her, understood she needed to do this, and he looked past her gender to see her as an equal.

"The honor will be mine, Ser Jorah," Arya said, finally.

With a bow of his head he walked away, leaving her to watch his retreating back. He moved out of the way as someone walked past him. Gendry. Arya watched him approach, wondering what had caused him to stay to himself for so long. Even now, as she watched him walk towards her, she could tell there was something on his mind. His forehead wrinkled, as if worried. His eyes were dark and brooding. Arya turned fully towards him as he came to a stop a few feet away.

"Hi," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"Hi," she replied back.

They stood in silence for a moment. The wind, the only sound around them. Gendry was troubled by something, that was for certain. Arya thought she had settled his nerves about her going beyond the Wall the night before, but he looked uneasy.

"I—I have thought about how to approach this subject with you, but I have come up with nothing."

Arya sighed, she thought this topic was done. "Gendry, I am going with you all and…"

"You love someone else…"

She choked on the words she was about to say. Her eyes grew wide, but she forced herself to recover and clamp down on her emotions. Her heart beat against her chest as the words he said echoed in her mind over and over. He knew. Somehow he knew.

"Gendry…" she whispered, but he raised his hand to stop her.

"Let me get this out…please," he begged. "I have been angry and gutted since you said those words to me last night when you thought I was sleeping." Arya felt the blood drain from her face. He had not been asleep. She felt horribly stupid. "I have wanted to stay angry with you, but I realize that I cannot. We were separated, and even if we had not been separated I would have let you leave me. I allowed you the chance to love another, because I was not willing to allow you to love the man I was. When I realized this my anger melted away, and now I just feel a sadness."

Arya cut the distance and touched his arm, wanting to take his pain away, a pain she was causing. "I love you as well. I do, Gendry," she whispered, putting every once of emotion she had behind her words. Gendry gave her a small smile.

"I know. Which is why I am willing to fight for you. I am willing to fight to be with you, whatever it takes. I know, without even knowing who the other man is, that I can give you what you need, Arya. No matter how long it takes to prove that to you I am willing to do just that." He took her hand and placed it upon his chest, over his heart. "This beats for you and only you."

She wrapped her arms around him, closing her eyes and breathing him in. She knew she deserved for him to hate her. She deserved for him to walk away and never look back, yet he remained. He loved her still.

"Now you know why I hesitated. I want to give you everything, every part of me, and until I can I am trapped in this limbo," she said.

"I will just have to prove to you I am the better choice," he said, kissing the top of her head.

Arya closed her eyes. How she wished she could just forget Jon and be with Gendry. This man had put aside his anger and pain for her, to have her, and she knew she did not deserve it. She needed to decide one way or another and soon. There was a choice to be made, and that choice could not wait. They spent a while on the bow of the ship feeling the wind whip around them. Arya clung to Gendry, begging her heart to choose him completely, but her heart would not listen.

Later that day, Arya lay on her small bed in her cabin. She stared up at the ceiling, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Gendry had not asked who it was she had fallen in love with, which she was thankful for. Would it be worse for him if he knew it was Jon? Arya sighed, it did not really matter at this point. Gendry would fight for her no matter who it was. He had made that perfectly clear.

She turned on her side, staring at the bare walls of the ship. She could feel the ship lull her back and forth in a gentle embrace, and soon she felt her eyes grow heavy. With a yawn, Arya fell right to sleep.

Some time later Arya was awaken by someone sitting on the side of her bed. The slight dip in the bed the visitor made aroused her enough that she came awake with a start. When her eyes adjusted to the dark room she saw it was Jon.

"Please, do not put yourself in danger, Arya," he whispered. The utter defeat in his voice slapped her in the face.

She reached for him in the darkness, and found his arm. She pulled him towards her as gently as she could. Like a child, Jon came easily, sliding in beside her. Their faces lay inches from one another as she tried to smile, but it never came. Jon gently smoothed her hair from her face.

"What would you do if the situations were reversed? I swore to protect you, and that is exactly what I will do," he said.

"And what if I do not need your protection anymore? Jon, I can do this, I swear to you I can. You know I am one of the best fighters you have. Whether you admit it or not you know that you need me."

"I do need you," he said, miserably. "That is why I beg you not to go."

Arya leaned in, kissing him softly. It surprised her how easily it was becoming for her to kiss him. Jon responded just as gently, holding her face to his.

Arya was the first to pull away, yet Jon refused to let her move very far. She met his dark eyes. "Tell me I am not the only one that feels how right this is," he said, softly.

"I wish it were that simple, Jon."

He sat up on the edge of the bed, his back turned to her. "I saw you with him today. I have to admit it took everything I had not to tear you out of his arms, but I know that would only push you away."

"He knows there is someone else…not you, just someone else," Arya said.

"Good. I do not have to be the only one suffering," Jon said, bitterly.

His words made her wince, a reminder of the consequences of her actions against both Jon and Gendry. "I would even be willing to let him win, to let you choose him without a fight from me, if you choose not to go with us beyond the Wall."

"And this would last forever? You would just let me walk away?"

Jon turned to the side, cutting his eyes towards her. "No, it would not last."

Arya sat on the opposite end of the bed, their backs to each other. The gap reappeared between them, the heaviness evident. No amount of kisses could make this work between them. Both of them knew.

"Will it always be like this between us? Always pulled together…always separated," Jon asked.

"Yes," she answered, quietly. "Unless we end this tonight, for good."

"You would have to choose, Arya…" he started, but she spoke up, interrupting him.

"I am going to choose Gendry. I am letting you go, Jon. I have to let you go. One of us has to do it if we are going to survive this." The words were like hot lava flowing from her mouth. She knew he would argue, yet she was so tired of arguing with him.

"Is that truly what you want?" he said, his voice a soft echo.

Arya slammed her eyes shut against the voice screaming in her head. It spoke of lies and deceit, of blasphemous words.

"Yes," she whispered.

"And you think I am just going to accept it without a fight? You think I am going to let you go?"

"You do not have a choice anymore. It is done, Jon. My mind is made up and I choose Gendry."

"That kiss said otherwise."

He had her there, but she played it off so easily. "I never said it would be easy, but it is what I want. He will give me a good life, and he deserves all of me, just as Daenerys deserves all of you."

Jon stood to his feet and walked towards the door. Arya thought he had accepted her words as truth, but his next sentence proved otherwise.

"The moment you can look me in the eyes and say those words will be the moment I believe them. The moment you can let me go without every part of your being shaking I will believe them. Until that day you have me from now until always."

With that, he closed the door behind him and left Arya to think on his words hours into the night.

The days passed without another meeting between her and Jon. They passed one another, but only their eyes spoke of what their heart dared not say aloud. She spent most of her days and nights with Gendry getting to know him again. Arya had forgotten how at ease she felt in his presence, how he could make her foulest moods turn brighter. By day they walked the deck of the ship talking of their many adventures, while at night they lay in each other's arms. Arya would lay awake long after he slept, listening to the sound of the wind and waves, feeling the same storm raging within her. Even as she lay in Gendry's arms her mind lay with someone else.

Eastwatch by the Sea loomed before them tucked against the enormous Wall of ice. They were welcomed by Tormund and several Wildlings. There was steaming hot soup and mead to warm their bellies. Once that was taken care of, Jon went to work on filling his friend in on the plan to catch a Wight.

"And how many men did you bring?" Tormund asked.

Everyone looked around the table, unable to hide their embarrassment.

"We were hoping you and your wildling brothers would help us," Jorah said.

Tormund's eyes landed on Arya, a look of surprise shining through. "You brought a woman to join us?"

"She is here in the name of Daenerys Targaryen. I—I do not…approve," Jon said, cutting his eyes to Arya.

"Then, you are blinder than I thought! This one is wild, Jon. I see it in those eyes staring back at me. She will outlast us all! I like it!" Tormund said, with a hearty laugh. Arya smiled, liking him right away.

"Well, it just so happens that we are not the only ones that want to go beyond the Wall. Just days ago a group of men trespassed, trying to go out there, and I locked their sorry cocks up. Maybe they will be willing to join us."

"Who are they?" Jon asked, curious.

Tormund led them down a deep stairwell into a dark and damp place. The smell of mold and dirt assaulted Arya's nose making her cover her mouth. He brought them to a cell where she could see three figures laying about, yet she could not see their faces. She did not need to, for Jon saw for the both of them.

"You are the Hound. I saw you once in Winterfell," he said.

The sound of his name brought back a long forgotten memory of a broken man that she had left behind to die. Yet, there he lay before her, and when his eyes met her own wide ones she heard a voice she thought long dead.

"What in the fucking hell…"

Arya walked straight towards the bars of the cell to get a better look at this ghost. He was supposed to be dead. How had he survived? Questions zoomed around her mind as he took a step towards her, a step into the light. There was no mistaken the man in front of her. The Hound had survived that day.

"You look as though you have seen a fucking ghost, girl," he mumbled, but she saw a slight smile grace his heavily burnt features.

"I should be seeing a ghost," she said, giving him a smirk back.

"You two know each other?" Jon asked, looking confusingly between Arya and the Hound.

"We met…some time ago," she answered.

"She was a pain in my ass. Not to mention she left me to die!" He said, growling.

He and Arya stared at each other, so many unsaid words hanging in the air around them. She had almost forgotten his face, had almost forgotten that time on the road with him.

"He saved my life…when Robb was murdered."

Arya was not sure why she chose that memory to speak aloud. She wanted to rant and spit, yet all she felt was grateful that the Hound had survived.

"And in return she left me to die!"

"The Lord of Light had other plans for you, my friend." Another voice from the past. Thoros of Mry moved into the tiny light in the cell, his face smiling. Beside him Beric Dondarrion sat. Arya looked between the three men wondering how in the world they ended up together. Last they had all been in the same room the Hound had put a sword through Dondarrion's chest.

"Here we all are, at the end of the world, all of us having the same purpose," Thoros of Mry said.

"You are a liar. Whatever they say, do not listen to them," Gendry said, walking to the cell bars. He stared down the three men, his anger evident. "Remember me? You sold me to the Red Witch to be murdered."

"You were to serve a bigger purpose, the Lord of Light's bidding, if the Red Priestess wanted you," Dondarrion said, softly. Gendry grabbed the bars, as if he had the strength to break through and reach the men inside.

"Enough," Jon said, taking a hold of the escalating situation. "We can not fight amongst ourselves. You are going beyond the Wall, correct?" All three men nodded their heads. "Then, we are all on the same side."

"How?" Gendry spat.

"Cause we are breathing." Jon opened the cell releasing the three men. Their group of five just turned into a group of eight. Each one took the rest of the day to gather their nerves and prepare for the most dangerous mission any of them had been a part of.


	12. Chapter 12

The first thing that hit her was the cold, a bone-chilling, freezing air. Arya felt knives in her chest every time she took a breath. She was a Northerner, and the cold was nothing new to her, yet this was a different kind of cold. She bundled down in her thick furs, but the cold found ways to infiltrate straight through her.

She looked to her left and noticed the way Gendry's lips trembled, the way they had turned blue. His face was white as the snow they walked upon. Everyone looked frozen, yet they pushed forward. The wind was relentless, unforgiving, and she bowed her head against it's assault.

They had walked all day, deep into the snowy mountains of the lands beyond the Wall. Even Tormund, a wildling, looked half frozen. This cold was unnatural, and that made her heart hammer against her chest. If nature was not responsible for such wind and snow, where, then, was the things responsible? Westeros would not even survive the winter the Night's King and his army would bring.

"I—I cannot, I—I cannot f—feel my f—feet," said one of the men from the Night's Watch. He stumbled ahead, moaning softly. They had brought with them four men from the Night's Watch and four wildlings.

"We stop now and we die!" Jon yelled, over the wind. It whipped around them, slapping them in the face. Every breath was a struggle, every step agonizing.

Arya caught Jon's eye, saw the worry within them. His lips were also blue and his beard covered in ice and snow. The sun was setting and soon nightfall would be upon them. They needed to find shelter, for they would not last out in the open after the sun went down. What little heat it gave them had been enough for now, and they could not go without it.

"There," Jorah yelled, pointing to a opening in one of the snow-capped mountains. It would be cold inside, but would give them shelter from the harsh wind and snow. Jon nodded his head, leading them towards shelter.

The cold's bite lessened the further they moved into the cave. Gendry turned Arya's shaking form towards him, running his hands up and down her arms causing a blissful friction to awaken her freezing skin.

"Are you al…" he started to say, but Arya was pulled away from him. She stumbled, her legs refusing to work right, but arms wrapped around her in a strong embrace. Jon held her tightly to him, rubbing her back and warming her.

"Your freezing," he whispered. They were all freezing.

"I—I am better," she said, her teeth chattering.

"We cannot build a fire, for it can be seen at night, so stay close to me. I will keep you warm."

"I can do that!"

Arya and Jon turned to see Gendry watching them. His face looked hardened, his eyes angry. The cold was all but forgotten as the two men sized each other up. This was the wrong time and place for such a show of machoism.

"We can all keep each other warm," Arya said, slowly pulling herself out of Jon's hold.

"She does not need you to do anything. It is my job to protect her," Jon shot back, ignoring what she had just said.

"Like hell," Gendry said, under his breath. He took a step towards her and Jon, as if ready to fight for the right to keep her warm. Had the cold made them lose their minds? They were out in the middle of a frozen wasteland and this is what they chose to argue about.

"Enough!" she said, angrily. "Neither of you will do anything for me. Get your heads in the mission, and until you do I will find company elsewhere!"

With that, Arya stormed off leaving Jon and Gendry gawking at her back. The cold seeped back in the moment she took her first step, but she did her best to ignore it. Tormund and the Hound sat with their backs to the wall of the cave, their heads bowed low to keep warm. There was a small space between them, just large enough for someone of her size. Between those two burly men she would be the warmest of them all.

Arya wormed her way between the two men, sighing to herself when their body heat blanketed her. Tormund never looked up, never reacted to her invasion, but the Hound did. His head slowly rose as one eye cut in her direction.

"You left me to die," he said, low.

"We can discuss that if and when we survive freezing to death. Just for now, can we call a truce?" she mumbled.

He stared at her for a moment, his face unreadable. Finally, he sighed and nodded his head. "Here," he said, raising his arm. Arya did not hesitate to slip her freezing hands between his arm and body. She swallowed the most delicious sigh as her fingers began to thaw. She laid her forehead on his arm allowing her body to give in to the exhaustion. Tormund even snuggled closer to her cutting off what little wind blew into the cave. For the first time since leaving Eastwatch Arya felt warmth.

"I wish you would have killed me. It would have been better than what is waiting for us, what I saw in the flames," the Hound said, softly.

Arya had just dozed off when his words reached her muddled mind. She cracked her eyes open, staring up at him. He was wide awake, his eyes focused on the world outside the cave. He had changed since the last time she saw him. He looked less savage, less crazed. Had he finally found some semblance of peace?

"Well, tell you what, if we survive this I will finish the job and put you out of your misery when we get back. For now, let us get this wight and get the hell out of here."

"Cunt," he said, yet she heard the soft laugh that accompanied it.

"Dog," she whispered, smiling.

Arya snuggled closer to the Hound, feeling her body relax as it soaked up both of the men's heat. She tried not to think about everyone else freezing. She definitely tried not to look at Jon and Gendry. It was easier said than done as she peeked around the cave and found the men on opposite ends. No matter the distance their eyes continued to stare daggers into each other. Their anger would keep them company, and most likely keep them warm for the remainder of the night.

Arya awoke the next day feeling surprisingly restful. They gathered their supplies and stepped out into the bitter cold once more. The moment the wind ravaged her face she longed for that cave again, longed for the Hound and Tormund to warm her again. But as the day wore on, and the cold grew colder, the cave became a distant memory. She walked between Gendry and Jon, the tension still thick in the air.

Arya opened her mouth to scold them both again when something caught her eye in the distance. It looked like a black dot against a white backdrop, yet the black dot was moving. In and out of focus it grew, appearing and reappearing. Everyone came to a slow stop except one of the Night's Watch. He crept towards the black dot, his sword drawn. He, too, began to appear and disappear in the thick snow.

Suddenly the black dot turned in their direction and Arya felt her heart drop. Staring at them were eyes of blue. A blue she had never seen before.

"Do bears have blue eyes?" Gendry asked, stunned.

"No," Jon breathed, reaching for his sword.

The bear with horrible blue eyes took off after the unfortunate man that had ventured too far out from the group. He yelled in fright as he turned and ran back towards Arya and the rest, but his mistake was too great to correct. All eyes were on the bear heading full speed towards them that no one saw the second bear coming from another direction. With a mighty roar, he took the man between his teeth and disappeared leaving Arya wide-eyed.

Jon ran towards where the bear had gone…alone. "Jon!" Arya yelled. She ran towards him, followed closely by Gendry and the rest of the group. When she reached him he was looking down at the snow, yet the snow had turned to bright red. Blood. In an instance everyone drew their weapons and formed a tight circle.

Arya looked in every direction, her heart pounding wildly. There was nothing to see, just pure-white snow for miles and miles, and that was if you could see past the thick snowflakes falling around them. How were they going to defend themselves when they could not see the danger coming? Arya closed her eyes, bringing forth in her mind the training of the blind girl.

The moment she allowed her senses to take over she became aware of everything. She could hear the men breathing heavily around her, could hear their shoes crunching in the snow. She could hear the wind whipping around them. But, there was also something else, a sound of approaching heavy footprints behind them.

"Behind us!" she yelled, just as the bear came into view. Her warning saved Jorah Mormont, allowing him time to dodge the undead creature, but the wildling standing beside him was not as lucky. He took two sets of sharp teeth to the side of the neck, and was sent flying like one of Sansa's old dolls. He was dead before his body hit the snow. It was then that chaos reigned down upon them.

Jon leapt at the horrible creature only to be swatted away through the air. Arya gasped as he hit the ground hard. She ran to him, searching for any signs of wounds. His eyes slammed shut, his teeth grinding in pain, yet she found no signs of blood or wounds.

"I am fine," he said, trying to reassure her.

Behind her, Arya heard a scream of pain and turned just in time to see the undead bear take a large bite of Thoros of Myr's chest. "No!" she whispered. Not even the flaming blade of Beric Dondarrion could slow the creature. A mixture of fur and dead flesh saturated the air causing Arya to fight against the urge to gag. Jorah Mormont plunged his blade into the creature's side killing him for good.

She helped Jon to his feet, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. For the first time since they left Eastwatch she saw fear and doubt plague him. There was no going back, for they had come this far. Not even Thoros of Mry was willing to go back. They cauterized his chest wound, using Beric Dondarrion's flaming sword, and they were back on their feet moving further ahead.

None of them spoke, which allowed an eerie silence to soak in around them. There was no sound, no birds chirping above them, not even the sound of their boots sinking into the snow. There was nothing. Arya wanted to scream just to hear something.

Jon led them between two large mountains. She felt so small looking towards the massive objects. Jon held his hand up for the group to come to a stop. He walked slowly to the side and peered down below them towards a massive frozen lake. Below them walked a group of undead led by a White Walker. Jon, Tormund and Jorah ran passed Arya and the others, disappearing around a huge boulder. She stilled herself to keep from running after them. Their plan had now begun.

Gendry grabbed Arya's hand, squeezing. She turned slowly to look at him. He tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace.

"Are you ready?" he whispered.

"Yes," she answered, more confident than she felt.

"Stay by me."

With that, the group ran towards where the three had disappeared. The fire had been lit, it's flames reaching towards the sky. They split up, with half going around to the opposite side of the snow embankment. Arya fell to the snow on her stomach beside Tormund. Gendry fell beside her. The entrapment was set.

The undead pack walked slowly past them towards the lit fire. Their leader looked at the flames in confusion, but he was like a moth being drawn to the flames. Arya and the others would wait until they passed and then jump into action. All eyes turned to Jon, waiting for their signal. When the last undead was in place, Jon stood.

Arya took a long breath, releasing it. All at once the group jumped to their feet and attacked. With Needle in one hand and the dagger in the other Arya went for the first wight closest to her. As If he sensed her coming, the undead creature turned so swiftly Arya barely had time to bring Needle up to block a blow from the thing's own sword. The power in the blow stung from her wrist all the way up to her shoulder. She had no time to recover before the undead thing swung at her again. Arya ducked, dodging the blade with ease. She thrust the dagger towards the undead thing's chest, but all she touched was air. It jumped from her path, but it did not jump far enough. With her other hand she swung Needle around cutting the thing in half. It fell to the ground in a heap of bones and torn cloth.

Suddenly, all around them the undead began to break apart and fall to the ground. All of them but one. They had their wight, the mission complete. The group surrounded the creature, but the creature would not go down without a fight. It took Tormund's fist and several of them to hold it down, but what came next froze Arya's blood cold. The wight let out a guttural, high-pitched scream that echoed off the high mountains around them. It was a call for help, a call to the others.

All went still as the sound of thousands moving towards them floated upon the wind. The undead group had not been alone after all. They had only gone ahead to stake out the area. The real army was headed towards them at that very moment, and the sound of them was deafening. Jon was first to come out of the trance. He ran towards Gendry, grabbing his arm to get his attention.

"Run back to Eastwatch. Send a raven to Daenerys and tell her to come at once!" He said, panicked.

"I will not leave Arya!" Gendry yelled over the noise.

"Yes you will! You are the strongest and fastest runner. If you do not go we all die!"

Gendry refused to move, turning his helpless eyes towards Arya. "I cannot keep up with you, Gendry. You are the only one that can make it. Do as Jon says. Save us!" she said, grabbing his face.

He crushed his lips to hers, hungrily taking all that she would give him. "Stay alive!" He begged.

Gendry did not wait for her to answer, but turned and ran the opposite direction. Arya watched him until the snow devoured him from her sight. Could he make it back in time to save them? Had Jon just sent him to his own death? Questions swirled in her mind, but she had no time to think on them. They were in grave danger and needed to move immediately.

Jon grabbed her arm, pushing her forward. The group ran past the fire they had built towards more ice and snow. Ahead of them lay an icy lake. As soon as their feet hit the ice it began to crack against their weight.

"Stop!" Jorah Mormont screamed.

Everyone froze, below them the sound of breaking ice stopped. Arya turned and looked behind her, but she wished she had not. As far as the eye could see a multitude of dead were running towards them. If they stayed where they were they would be dead in minutes.

"Go!" Jon screamed.

The broken ice forgotten, Arya ran as fast as she could. She felt the dead right behind her, their cold breaths breathing upon her skin. Their screams caused her body to shake. Was it only her mind playing tricks on her, or had one actually touched the back of her neck?

The group ran towards a huge boulder sitting in the middle of the frozen lake. It would give them no shelter, but all around them the army of the Dead ran and boxed them in. There were just too many to count. The moment Arya made it to the boulder she heard the sound of cracking ice behind her. She whipped her head around and watched as hundreds of wights fell into the ice-cold water.

Someone grabbed her arm, pulling her onto the boulder. Jon wrapped his arm around her as they watched the army come to a stop, trapped by the opening lake. Arya and Jon turned in every direction noticing the stoppage of their movements. For a moment they were safe, for there was no passage for the undead army to take.

"Now what?" Beric Dondarrion asked.

"Now, we hope and pray Gendry makes it. Anything else would be useless," Jon answered.

Arya sat down upon the boulder, looking all around her. There was no amount of training that could prepare her for what she saw. Yes, she wore the faces of the dead, but it was always a living, breathing person under those masks. The faces looking back at her now belonged to death. There was nothing living underneath them.

"What do we say to the god of Death?" she whispered.

"Look!" Tormund said, pointing to a large cliff overlooking the lake. Upon that cliff sat four riders. When Arya saw the middle rider she felt a chill crawl up and down her spine. She was looking at Death.

"Not today," she whispered, as if talking to the rider. As If he heard her, his head slowly turned towards her direction. She could see his blue eyes perfectly, could feel them sliding inside her to her very soul. She fought the urge to scream and look away. Instead, she forced herself to meet his strange gaze and not look away.

"Arya, look at me."

She heard Jon's voice, yet it sounded as if he were on the other side of the lake. She had no idea she was sliding off the boulder until he grabbed her and pulled her towards him. Only when he turned her back to the Night's King did she come back to herself.

"Arya!" he said, more urgently.

She blinked several times, the fog in her mind releasing her. When she focused on Jon's worried face she let out a long gasp. She had been holding her breath the entire time.

Jon grabbed her face, his concern growing. "Arya, I need you to talk to me," he commanded.

"I—I am fine," she said, low, but she felt anything but fine. He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her softly. She clung to him, for he was sanity among the insanity.

The hours passed, until nighttime fell upon them. There was no cave to protect them this time. There was no warmth to be found. The group huddled together as tightly as they could, but the cold found its way inside their bodies anyway. Arya hid her face in Jon's chest, their bodies completely intertwined. She knew they only had hours remaining in this world. If the army of the dead did not kill them the cold would. There was so much she wanted to say to Jon, yet she did not know where to begin.

"This is not how I wanted your life to go," Jon whispered in her ear. The others around them were fast asleep, them being the only two awake.

Arya raised her head and looked around. The undead army stood as still as stone, all around them. They would not remain that way forever. She would die upon the frozen lake along with the entire group. Jon leaned down and kissed her temple, his lips lingering for a while. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his lips for the last time.

"There is no where else I would rather be than right here on this boulder with you. When I die, I can know it was worth every minute," she whispered, turning her face to his. The were inches apart.

"You could be safe at Eastwatch with Gendry coming back to you," he said, his voice sad.

Arya thought of Gendry, thanking whatever gods were listening that at least he had a chance to survive. "Thank you. You gave Gendry a chance to survive," she said, reaching a shaking hand up to touch Jon's face. His eyes slowly closed at the feel of her touch. The knowledge that Gendry could possibly go on living would give her courage to face her own death.

Jon rested his forehead upon hers, breathing a long sigh. "Arya, they will kill us, but you know what will happen. I—I cannot let that happen to you." His voice was so low she had to strain to hear him. His meaning was as clear as day. They all would be turned into wights.

There were no words of comfort she could give him. They all set out to catch a wight, but now they would become one. All Arya could do was cling to him. "If you go down I will do what I must to keep you from turning. Beric has a flaming sword. P—Perhaps I—I will have time…"

"Shhh," Arya soothed. She pulled his head down upon her shoulder, rubbing the back of his head to calm his heart. "I love you, Jon. I have always loved you and no matter what I become I will always carry that love."

For the rest of the night they spoke of their love and of plans that would never happen. There was no time for tears, only words of love and looks that spoke of their heartache. Jon's eyes were all that Arya saw as the sun awoke in the sky. She never looked away from him, until the group began to wake.

She heard the Hound kick their captured wight, heard the army of dead hiss and scream at his assault, as if they felt it as well. She watched him pick up a rock and throw it, hitting one of the wights and breaking it's jaw completely off. He picked up a second rock, yet it did not quite make it. It hit the ice, skipping several times before coming to rest in front of the wight.

Two things became very clear in that moment. One, the air was colder. Two, the lake had completely frozen over again.

"Oh, fuck," the Hound whispered.

One by one the wights came towards them, until it was proven the lake could hold their weight. Arya and Jon jumped to their feet, their swords in hand.

"Thoros?" Beric Dondarrion called out.

Everyone turned to see the red priest was dead. He had not survived the bitter cold of the night. There was no time to mourn, no time to grieve his passing. Beric Dondarrion lit his sword and set his friend ablaze. Arya knew she would be next. Her body would burn beside Thoros of Mry.

"Here they come!" Jorah Mormont screamed.

They came from every direction, every shape and size. The army of the dead descended on Arya and the others without mercy. She raised the dagger, raised Needle, and in the last few seconds before they reached them she came to terms with her mortality. She came to terms with the fact she would not walk away from the boulder alive. But, she made a promise to herself to take as many of them with her as she could. Today, she would dine with Death.

"What do we say to the god of Death?" she breathed. "We say come and get me."

Arya swung Needle over her head making contact with the first wight to reach her. It fell at her feet forever still. The next wight took a dagger to it's empty eye socket. It screamed, but fell like the one before. Where one fell two more took it's place. Arya swung Needle, thrashed out with the dagger, but they kept coming at her. They pushed her back and back until she stood on the highest point of the boulder.

"Stop him!" Jon yelled.

Arya turned, seeing one of the wights trying to free its captured brother. Arya moved to stop it, but something crashed into her side. She fell to the ground, the air knocked from her chest. A wight was on top of her, his cold hands around her neck, squeezing. Needle sat underneath her. The blade had fallen from her hand and was out of her reach. Black dots exploded in her vision as she felt herself being pulled under into darkness.

Suddenly, the hands around her neck were gone and her vision cleared. She sucked in the most delicious of breaths. Someone grabbed her, placing her back on her feet. The Hound stood before her, his eyes wild and crazed. They turned their backs to one another, using the other as a shield and the battle continued. Arya grabbed Needle just in time to plunge it deep into a wights stomach. The smell of death and decay was as thick as smoke.

She turned around to look at the others, each one caught up in their own hell. Her eyes found Jon. He looked at her, hopeless, defeated. This was the end. The sound of a screech filled the air above them, causing Arya to look up.

The sight before her was the most precious sight she had ever seen. Three very large dragons flew towards them like a lightening bolt on the sky. They opened their mouths and the brightest flame descended down upon the army of the dead. The group fell to the ground as the dragons flew over them, opening up a path around the boulder. The wights fell where they stood, their bones and flesh burning.

Arya saw Daenerys upon her dragon, circling around the group before landing beside them. Drogon opened his mouth with a guttural scream and disposed of the wights running away. Arya slowly stood, her wide eyes looking around. They were alive.

Everyone turned toward the dragon, climbing on. Jon grabbed her, pushing her forward in front of him. She climbed upon the beast and immediately turned to help Jon up, but he was no longer behind her. She watched, helpless, as Jon walked away from the safety of the dragon to fight off the remaining wights.

"Jon!" she screamed.

Arya moved to climb from the Dragon, but the Hound grabbed her. He held her still as she fought to get free. The more Jon fought the further away from them he grew. Her eyes were on him, until she heard of shriek of pain above her. She looked up just in time to see one of the dragons plunging towards the ground. Fire and blood poured down like rain from a wound at his side. There was nothing to do but watch as the magnificent creature hit the frozen lake and skidded to a stop. He did not move. He made no noise. Slowly, he disappeared into the icy lake, a frozen burial.

No one moved. Everyone upon Drogon watched in disbelief as the once breathtaking creature became no more. Arya felt as if she had watched the sun fall from the heavens.

"Go! Go, now!"

Only Jon's voice could cut through what Arya had just witnessed, although what he said had not quite sunk in. He wanted them to go, but he had not yet made it to safety. She caught sight of Jon only a moment before Daenerys took them up.

Arya watched, horrified, as Jon was tackled by two wights and fell. The moment their weight hit the ice, they went under. It was the last vision she had before Drogon banked hard to the left and the icy lake was behind them.

She was not sure who screamed louder…her or Drogon.


	13. Chapter 13

"Let me go!" Arya screamed.

All the way back to Eastwatch she fought against the Hound's hold, yet he never relented. The more she fought, the tighter he held her. Tormund helped him keep her at bay when she almost caused them both to fall from Drogon's back. Over and over she saw Jon fall into the icy lake. She saw the wights attack him and drag him below. They had left him to die. Arya cried out for him the whole way back to Eastwatch. She begged Daenerys to turn back around and get him. Her pleas went unanswered.

When they landed at Eastwatch Arya pulled herself from the Hound's grasp and climbed from Drogon. She ran as fast as she could back towards where Jon had been left behind. It did not matter that she would never make it. It did not matter that she would die herself in the frozen weather. Nothing mattered but reaching him and pulling him from the lake.

"Arya!" The Hound yelled.

She ignored him, running faster away from the safety of Eastwatch. She could hear several people behind her, but she refused to slow down. Madness took hold of her senses, and the sight of Jon disappearing into the lake over and over made her want to burn the image from her brain. He was gone…she would not believe it.

Someone tackled her from behind, sending her face first into the snow. Arya swung her arms, trying to fight off whoever held her down, but they were joined by others and she was outnumbered. They turned her over to keep her from suffocating and when they did she let out a piercing scream. The pain was more than she could bear.

"Stop this madness, Arya! You go back out there and you will die!" Jorah Mormont said.

"We have to go back!" she cried, not understanding how they could be okay with leaving Jon. "He is still out there! He needs us!"

"He is gone!" The Hound yelled.

No, she would never believe that. She began to struggle again, even as three grown men held her down. Something within her broke. She felt it pulsing in her chest, felt the cracks forming, until all at once it shattered like glass. It was her heart. Arya stared out ahead of her towards the frozen wasteland. Not even the cold seeping into her clothing could penetrate through her fragile mind.

"He is gone," she whispered. Over and over those words poured from her trembling lips, until those words turned into a heart retching scream. Her strength seeped from her body, leaving her to the mercy of the men.

Someone picked her up, carrying her back to Eastwatch's gates. Arya stared up into the sky, watching the clouds lazily pass by her. The sky disappeared as the structure of Eastwatch was above her. The Hound carried her into a dark room, laying her atop a hard bed. Several blankets were pulled over her trembling form, yet she did not move a muscle. Arya could only stare up at the ceiling caught in a deep whole of pain.

"Someone go get the boy. He is the only one who can help her."

The blankets of fur were wound around her body like a cocoon, which did not allow room for escape. They had trapped her in this darkened room of hell and pain. Arya allowed herself to slip away, allowed the nothingness to take over. At least there she would not have to hurt so much.

"Arya…Arya, come back to me."

Someone was calling her beyond the darkness. She knew that voice as well as she knew her own, and it was a voice that could reach her like no other. Arya allowed herself to be pulled from her blissful world of nothingness back to the cold, dark room. She blinked her eyes a few times to clear her vision, and came face to face with Gendry. He held her hand to his mouth, his eyes closed as if sleeping, yet she could feel the tiny kisses his lips gave her skin.

"Gendry?" she whispered.

His eyes came open instantly. They did not speak for a while, just stared at one another. Arya was not sure if she could speak, for she felt the tears threatening to spill out. If she started to cry, she was not sure she could stop.

"I am so sorry, Arya," Gendry said, low.

She could not stop them once the first tear slid passed her eyelids. The tears spilled down like rain as the full force of the truth hit her. Jon was dead…taken from her in a blink of an eye. Gendry tore the blankets of fur from her and grabbed her shaking body in his arms, running his hand down the back of her head in a soothing gesture.

She clung to him, beating his back as she sobbed. He never tried to stop her, never told her to calm down. Gendry allowed her to purge her pain upon him and he took every hit she gave him, giving back to her words of love and comfort.

It took hours for her to finally calm. Arya had no more tears, she had no more strength, so she laid in Gendry's arms listening to the beat of his heart. He helped her from the bed, unbuttoning her shirt and pants to change her into new clothes. She never fought him, but stared at his face the entire time he worked. He stayed close to her, giving her warmth when she stood before him naked. His eyes never strayed from hers, not until he buttoned her new shirt for her.

When she was dressed, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and walked her from the room. Arya was aware of everyone's stare as she passed them. She looked straight ahead, unable to meet their gaze. Even as she entered the great room of Eastwatch she refused to meet anyone's eyes. She stood in the corner with Gendry by her side, staring at the large table before her. The map Jon had laid out to go over their plan still sat in place. No one had bothered to remove it. Just another reminder of his absence.

Her eyes roamed over the map of Westeros, until she saw the lands beyond the Wall. She stared at the empty spot where Jon's body now lay.

"How long has it been?" she whispered, to Gendry.

"Two days," he said, low.

Arya did not try to hide the wince. Two days and he had not returned. Whatever ounce of hope she held on to for him to make his way back suddenly ended. It was the final proof he was dead.

"Arya, let me be the first here to say how sorry we are for your loss…for all of our loss. Jon was a good man, and he deserved better."

Arya slowly raised her eyes to meet Daenerys. The emotion in the woman's voice caught her by surprise. There were tears in the queen's eyes. She hurt as well as Arya. It was the first time she realized how much Daenerys had come to care for Jon.

"Jon's death must not be in vain. We have the wight, something that has cost us all very dearly. Men died for this proof. Our next move is to take this…thing to King's Landing. The war will still come, and we must not stop though our hearts are burdened. Neither Thoros of Mry or Jon Snow would want us to stop! We will leave for King's Landing at first light, taking with us proof of what is coming."

Daenerys' voice trembled with every word, her own loss weighing heavily on all she said. Around the room, everyone nodded their heads in agreement. Everyone but Arya. How could she leave this place without Jon? How could she return to Winterfell and look her brother and sister in the eye and tell them she failed him? The North lost their king. Arya cared nothing about what was coming. She lost the will to care the moment Jon sunk into the frozen lake.

"Arya?" Gendry called.

"I am staying," she said, walking from the room.

She hurried towards the wooden cart that would take her to the very top of Eastwatch. She slammed the door, closing her eyes as her breaths rushed from her body. What was she doing? She was not sure, but she needed to escape the room. Air, that is what she needed. She wished the contraption to go faster.

When it finally reached the top, she tore the door open and stumbled out. Before her was the edge of the world, a world of nothing. Arya slowly walked to the edge and looked out before her. The two remaining dragons flew freely around the tower. She looked below her at the ground. It was so far away from this point. The wind whipped around her, pushing her hair all around.

Arya remained at the edge of the look out for some time before she heard the cart come back up. The door opened and someone stepped off. She did not have to look behind her to see who had followed. He would always follow.

"Arya, walk back to me, please," Gendry said, worried.

She slowly turned to him, seeing the fear in his eyes. He feared she would jump. Her heart hurt for Gendry, hurt for him because he loved her.

"Come back down with me. Let us get something hot to drink before we leave. I would like to take you back to Winterfell. You always wanted me to see your home. Please, Arya, please come to me so we can go home." Gendry held his hand out, taking slow steps towards her. She took the first step towards him, slowly raising her hand to take his.

Something caught his eye behind her, and Gendry came to a sudden stop. Above her, the sound of horns began to blow.

"OPEN THE GATES! A RIDER APROACHES!"

Arya slowly turned to look out at the area behind the Wall and felt her entire body grow tense. It was only a dot in the distance, yet the closer it came she could see the dot turn into a horse. She stumbled forward, her eyes growing wide at what was taking shape before her. The horse galloped at full speed. The rider a top the beast was hunched over as if sleeping.

Gendry grabbed her arm, for she had leaned out past the point where it was safe to stand. He pulled her back, yet she would not take her eyes off the rider. Did she dare believe it could be Jon? She could not see anything of the rider to make her believe it was him, but if not him who could it be?

Both of them hurried towards the cart and went down to the bottom. By the time they made it down, there were people running towards the gates. They were opening, and people spilled out towards the rider. Arya took off running as fast as she could, passing Davos and Daenerys both.

"The King of The North," someone yelled. "He is alive!"

That was enough to make Arya run faster. She ran past the gates, watching a group of men get to the horse first and pry the rider from the horse's back. The rider did not put up much of a fight, did not even look as though he were conscious.

Arya tried to push past the Wall of men, but they did not budge. She could not see over them, could not see what was happening. Arya needed to see the rider, to see if it was truly Jon.

"A—Arya."

The sound of her name caused her to stop moving. She froze in place, her eyes growing wide as tears blinded her vision. It was not the fact the rider said her name, but the fact the rider said her name in Jon's voice. Sobs threatened to choke her as she found the strength to push her way through the crowd of men.

The rider was on his side, looking away from her, but by the large smile on Tormund's face it was enough to cause a sob to fall from her mouth. She hurried around to Tormund's side, falling to her knees in the snow. His face was covered in snow and ice, but she met his eyes and there was no doubt anymore.

"Jon," Arya whispered, unable to comprehend he was here.

His eyes grew wide at the sight of her, as he reached a shaking hand out towards her. She did not hesitate to take it, feeling how cold his skin had become.

"Tormund, he is freezing to death," Arya said, choked. She never took her eyes from his, never let go of his cold hand, as the burly man picked Jon up in his arms and ran towards the warmth of Eastwatch.

"No, get him to the ship. I have the Maester waiting for him there," Daenerys said, her voice excited.

Tormund changed course without argument. She released Jon's hand, though she wanted to keep his touch close. Tormund could run faster without her holding him down, and Jon needed a Maester immediately. He laid Jon in the first boat as several men climbed aboard and rowed him to the ship anchored out at sea. Arya climbed in the second boat, along with Gendry, Davos, Daenerys, Tyrion, Jorah and the Hound. The men rowed as hard and fast as they could.

Everyone climbed on the ship, which would take them to King's Landing, yet their minds were only on one thing in that moment. Ahead of them, Tormund carried Jon into the first cabin, laying him gently upon the bed. Jon was shaking from head to toe, his lips and closed eyelids blue.

"Blankets! Hot cloth!" Find these things for me, now!" said the Maester. Several of the men went running after the things the man had ordered. Arya and Daenerys stood out of the way, the Queen's arm wrapped tightly around Arya. They watched Davos, Tormund and Gendry work on tearing Jon's frozen clothes from his body.

The men ran back in the room, the blankets and hot cloth in hand. Davos grabbed them from their hands and started to wrap the hot cloth around Jon's naked skin first before wrapping the thick blankets around him. Jon moaned in pain as they moved him.

"He needs more!" Davos said.

"There are no more," one of the men said.

Jon continued to shake, his teeth chattering. "He needs body heat," Daenerys said, taking her arm from Arya's shoulder and walking towards the bed. She watched, helplessly, as Daenerys climbed in the bed and wrapped herself around Jon. She held him so lovingly, kissing his forehead. Jon responded by growing still.

Arya tried to hide her hurt, yet it spilled from her eyes. She felt it should be her warming him. It should be her lips upon his forehead, but Daenerys had beaten her to it. Her pain was visible for everyone to see.

"Arya…"

She turned to see Gendry watching her. His eyes traveled from her to Jon and back again. She watched his face fall, watched the understanding grow in his eyes. He turned and walked out of the room without another word.

Arya hurried after him, chasing him above deck to the bow of the ship. His back was to her, his muscles flexing and relaxing. Anger fell from him in hard waves. He slowly turned to face her, tears welling up in his eyes. She looked at him, ashamed. How could she be both elated and sad all at once.

"The way you look at him…how did I not see it before? I think I always knew, but I did not want to believe it. That is why he hates me," Gendry said, more to himself than Arya.

"I can explain," she said, low.

He stared at her, his eyes ablaze with anger. "Explain what, Arya? Explain that the other man who you love is Jon Snow?"


	14. Chapter 14

The minutes rolled by as they stared at each other. Arya wanted to deny his words, to make him believe it was not true, but the anger in his eyes stilled her words. Instead, she looked out upon the blue sea. The wind caressed her face with it's salt filled fingers. She did not want to lie to Gendry…anyone but him. If he loved her as he said, he deserved the truth from her. The whole truth.

"Yes. Jon is the one I fell in love with." She said it so quietly, so reverently, she was not sure he heard her. The tightening of his jaw told her differently. Gendry had heard every word, had even heard the way she had spoke of her love for Jon.

"How could you allow yourself to fall in love with…him?"

The way he said it made her love for Jon sound horribly disgusting. To the outside world she assumed it was disgusting. Arya closed her eyes, not wanting to feel that disgust.

"Why did you not stop it! WHY…" he screamed, but he stopped himself from saying anything more. "Why did he not stop it? He is your brother," he said, more calm.

"I know what he is!" Arya hissed. "I know what he is better than you! Do you think I wanted this to happen? Do you think we decided to torture ourselves by falling in love with each other?"

Arya had stepped closer to Gendry with each word she spoke. She stood inches from him, her eyes burning with anger at the injustice of it all. He stood his ground, meeting her anger with anger. Who was he to judge her, a man that would have allowed her to walk away from him.

"I do not know what the hell the two of you were thinking!" He spat.

"What is the matter, Gendry, hm?" she said, sarcastically. "Just a few days ago you were ready to go to war for me, to show me you were the better choice. Now what? Everything has changed because that man is Jon? You just all of a sudden stopped loving me?"

"It is different," Gendry mumbled.

"Only because you allow it to be."

"No," he said, shaking his head softly. "It is different because I cannot compete with him. I cannot compete with that kind of love and history. I am doomed before I start."

Arya was taken aback by this. The biting words she had in store to throw back at him choked her as she swallowed them whole. "Gendry…" she started, but he held his hands up for her to be silent.

"I saw what it did to you when you thought he was dead. Do I understand how you could love Jon the way you do…no I do not, but there is no denying that love. The way you look at him. The way he moves around you like a shadow. I have seen him hold you, and I have seen the way you melt in his arms. I wanted to deny what I saw, just some sibling link, but the more I saw the more I could no longer deny. I cannot compete with that, Arya."

"You are walking away? You are giving up again?" she accused, tears welling in her eyes.

"What would you have me do?" he asked, defeated.

"Fight!" she yelled. "Just once, for me, do not give up!"

"You cannot ask that of me," he said, grabbing her arms and pulling her close. "You have to make that choice. Me or him. There is no in between. If I fight it will be a losing battle I face. I know I am letting you down again, but it is your turn to fight for me."

Gendry released her, taking a step back. She opened her mouth several times to tell him she had already chosen him, but the words were not there. Had she not told Jon she would choose Gendry? Why could she not say it? Because, she had lived in a world where she thought Jon was dead and that had changed everything. But, the thought of Gendry walking away for good destroyed her heart.

Arya wanted to scream and scream till her voice grew hoarse in the effort. She was being torn apart by her feelings for these two men. When Gendry turned walk away Arya grabbed his arm to stop him. He stopped, yet refused to meet her eyes.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

His jaw clenched as his eyes met hers. She could see the pain she caused him, but she pushed passed it. She needed to hear him say it, needed to feel it completely in that moment.

"More than I have ever loved anyone," he whispered.

She took his face in her hands and pulled him to her. She kissed him, allowing him to feel her love for him. His arms snaked around her as he towered over her shaking body. Gendry deepened the kiss, accepting all that she gave him. His hand went to the back of her head, grabbing a head full of brown hair. Arya sucked the bottom of his lip, tasting him…devouring him.

"How can you not feel how right this is, Arya? Tell me you do feel it!" He whispered, against her lips. She could not deny it. Gendry's lips were made for hers.

"I feel it," she whispered back. I have always felt it."

He kissed her again, softer this time. Within is arms she felt the most peace she had ever known. Gendry was her home, her sanctuary. The time for words with him was at an end. If she did not grab a hold of this man he would be gone like a shadow in the dark. She knew what had to be done, knew the choice that had to be made.

Gendry kissed the tears from her cheeks. Tears of love. Tears of loss. Tears for a choice that had to be made. She would give Gendry every part of her heart. She would choose him and let Jon go. Her prayers had been answered and Jon was alive. She could not ask more from the gods.

Gendry was waiting on her in his cabin later that night. She had explained what she needed to do. Although, he did not like it he allowed her this one thing without a fight. She stood in front of Jon's closed door, her heart hammering against her chest. When she raised her hand to knock it shook violently. She swallowed several times before her knuckles hit the hard wood.

"Come in," Jon's voice floated from the other side of the door. He sounded so weak.

Arya pushed the door opened and walked into the dimly lit room. He lay in his bed, the wounds on his chest visible to her. She chose those scars to stare at, anything but Jon's eyes. She watched him struggle to sit up, watched as his hand stretched towards her inviting her to come to him.

A voice in her head begged and screamed for her to run to him, for her to fall in his bed and never get up again. But, that was not what she was here to do. She was here to end things, to finally release him. Jon would survive this, for he had Daenerys, and Arya knew the woman cared for Jon. She would make him happy, and he needed her more than he would ever admit.

Jon's hand fell slowly, coming to rest in his lap. She watched his chest heave a long sigh. "Say what you have come here to say, Arya," he said, his voice so quiet. Jon already knew.

"How are you feeling?" she said, instead.

"Get on with it!" He shot back, causing her to jump.

This time, she did meet his eyes. They looked at her full of tears, full of hurt. "You know it has to be this way, Jon. I will choose Gendry and you will choose Daenerys. That is the way fate designed it. There is no world for you and me, no life."

Arya felt bile rise with each word, and desperately wanted to stop, but there was no stopping this time. Jon had returned to her, returned for one reason,.and that was so that she could let him go.

"When I fell in the frozen lake I knew that was the end," he said, caught in his memories. "I was surprised by how peaceful it was. I closed my eyes," he said, closing his eyes , as if reliving the moment. "In my darkest moment there was your face." Jon opened his eyes and looked at Arya again. "I could have easily sank to the bottom of that lake and ended all of this hell, but I wanted to see your face again. Seeing it in my head was not enough for me. I wanted to touch you, hold you…kiss you again. I opened my eyes and I swam. I swam as hard and fast as I could, even as my lungs burned with such pain. I fought my way out of that lake. I fought my way through a hoard of wrights. I fought through days of blistering weather so cold it stole my breath. All for you, and now you stand before me and tell me you are giving up on us?"

Jon threw the heavy blankets from his body and struggled out of the bed. Arya hurried to his side trying to stop him, but he shrugged her hands from his shoulders. He stood on shaky legs, his face full of anger and determination. Arya watched him, unsure of what he would do. He needed to be resting.

"I! Do! Not! Accept!" He whispered.

"Jon," Arya said, miserably.

"I do not accept!" He screamed. She leaned forward, laying her forehead upon his chest. She felt his heart beat wildly, felt his chest heave with heavy breaths. "I give it all up for you, Arya. I give up the war, the North. I give up everything. I would rather have just one day of life with you than to win this war and lose you. I met death twice and I defeated it for you! I need you so much it hurts to be away from you. I know you feel the same…I know!"

She wrapped her arms around him, finding his lips easily. How foolish was she to think she could walk in here and end their love so easily? But... He clung to her with all the strength he could find, kissing her back more feverishly than ever before. She kissed his mouth, his jaw, his closed eyelids. Her fingers roamed in his black curls, pulling his face as close to her own as she could. For every moment she loved him she poured into her kisses. For every tear he had dried, every fear he had made better, she gave him more love. He took and took and gave and gave.

She pulled away, letting out a sob. Her lips found his ear, kissing softly. "Goodbye, Jon," she whispered, breaking out of his hold.

His eyes grew wide, the tears spilling over. Arya had no choice. She had come here to end things and that is what she had to do. Forever more, she would be ripped in two, but she would give Jon a fighting chance to survive this…to survive them. If there had been no choice to make Arya would have been in Jon's bed, making love to him, but there was always choices. Hurt him to save him.

She turned from his stricken face and walked towards the door. He never called her back, never tried to stop her, and she was not sure that was better or worse than if he would have fought to keep her there with him. The door closed softly behind her, yet it sounded like lightening in her ears. She had broken his heart, and he would finally be done with her. If this was the right decision why did she feel like cutting her heart from her chest just to stop the pain?

She entered Gendry's cabin. He sat on the bed with his head down, but when he heard the door open his head popped up. She gave him a small smile, yet the action felt odd. He stood from the bed and walked towards her , wrapping her in his strong arms. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily, as if she could release what had just happened.

"Are you tired? Hungry? Do you want to talk?" he asked, softly.

"Can you just hold me until I fall asleep?" she asked, against his neck.

"Always," he whispered.

Gendry and Arya climbed in bed, their bodies linked from head to toe. She looked into his blue eyes, wishing away the dark eyes of Jon. She memorized his chiseled jawline and dark skin. She ran her hands through his short, dark hair…no curls to be found.

"I love you, Arya," he whispered, kissing her softly.

"I love you, too, Gendry," she said, barely able to speak. She closed her eyes, allowing the darkness of sleep to finally consume her.

Gendry moved beside her, mumbling something about a knock at the door. In a sleeping daze, Arya sat up in bed and watched Gendry open the door. Davos stood in the doorway, his face grim.

"Pardon the intrusion at this late hour, but there is something you need to see, M'lady."

Arya was to her feet in seconds, the sleep gone from her mind. Her first thought was that Jon had done something dangerous, and in his state it scared her. She hurried past Gendry towards Davos, but Gendry came right on her heels. They followed Davos through the darkened halls of the ship towards the stairs. Arya could hear a voices above her, could hear them speaking softly.

She burst through first, thinking the worst, but what she saw froze her in her tracks. There were people standing around, listening to the words spoken, words that felt like a death sentence. She looked on, wide-eyed, as man spoke.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hearby seal these two souls, binding them as one for all eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

Jon and Daenerys turned to one another, their hands tied together. She smiled at him, yet he did not smile back. His eyes looked tired, his face ashen, yet he spoke the words loud and clear.

"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. I am his/hers, and s/he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days."

All Arya could do was stare as Jon and Daenerys became man and wife on the back of a ship sailing towards King's Landing.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N So, it was brought to my attention that I left out the Stranger in the wedding vows. This was not intentional and an honest mistake. I laughed, because of all the Seven I chose that one to leave out. How fitting that is! My subconscious had a field day! Thanks so much for all the comments. Y'all give me such inspiration to get this updates out as quick as possible!**

Arya came awake with a silent scream upon her lips. She sat up, looking around wildly as her scattered mind went into overdrive to remind her where she was. The ship. Gendry's cabin. She had fallen asleep in his arms. What had happened next?

She turned and stared at Gendry's sleeping form. He had not reacted to her rather violent awakening. She rubbed her face with a shaky hand. Sweat gathered above her lip and on her forehead. She had had a nightmare. Or had that nightmare actually happened? She had to find out.

Arya slowly crawled out of the bed, careful not to wake Gendry. When he mumbled in his sleep, turning on his side, she froze. Seconds rolled into minutes before she moved again. Arya made no sound as she opened the door and slipped out into the darkness. She kept to the shadows, not wanting to be seen. Hurrying up the steps to the top of the ship, she held her breath. She remembered them standing before her and saying their wedding vows, yet there was nothing before her but wind and waves. The ship lightly swayed from side to side in a calming gesture to its inhabitants, yet all she felt was cold dread, for she could still see Jon and Daenerys becoming husband and wife. But, the vision slowly disintegrated, until there was nothing but the darkness of the night. Had it been only a dream?

Arya turned and ran back down the stairs towards the cabins. As she passed Daenerys' cabin she stilled. There were sounds coming from inside, sounds that could not be denied. She turned fully towards the door, as if she meant to open it and step inside. She reached a hand out and touched the door.

"I would not do that if I were you."

Arya snatched her hand away at the sound of the soft voice talking to her. When she turned around Tyrion was there. His face was grim, the concern in his eyes overwhelming. He looked passed her towards the door, a look of pain crossing his mangled features.

"The Queen is busy at the moment," he whispered.

Arya swallowed the lump in her throat, looking back at the three-headed dragon on the door. Yes, she could hear Daenerys was busy, and she knew who was in there with her. Arya wished she could say it did not bother her, but she felt a gutted pain in her stomach.

"Jon is with her?" Arya asked, the answer obvious.

"Yes."

She had driven him into the arms of Daenerys. Arya turned from the door, walking back towards Tyrion. He led her away towards a large room they used to have meetings. She slowly sat down, feeling a large weight upon her shoulders. It all came back to her now. She had walked away from Jon for Gendry and he had walked straight to Daenerys. There had been no wedding, but what she knew was happening at that very moment hurt just as bad.

Tyrion sat an empty cup in front of her. She watched him pour her a gracious amount of wine, giving her a sad smile. He poured his own cup and took a seat across from her. She stared at the cup for a few seconds before grabbing it and taking three long gulps. The sour wine ran down her throat, burning and choking her. She refused to stop, drinking until there was nothing left. Tyrion watched her, a half smile upon his lips. He pushed the large pitcher of wine towards her, and she filled her cup back up.

By her third cup, Arya felt the effects of the wine. She closed her eyes, feeling the rocking of the ship more clearly. Anger burned through her veins when the pain did not subside.

"I know why I am upset by Daenerys and Jon, but I am rather curious as to why you are just as upset."

"I have my reasons," Arya mumbled, into her cup.

"That, I can see," he responded.

She looked up at him, seeing the pity in his eyes. She despised that look. She had a mind to pour her wine over the imp's head just to get rid of that look. Instead, Arya opened her mouth and confided in Tyrion.

"They do not belong together. Nothing good could come from this. He does not love her! He loves…" She had almost said too much. The wine made her tongue slippery, or did Tyrion hold some sway over people to make them talk?

Tyrion reached for the pitcher, pouring more wine into his cup. "I will agree, I do not think any good could come from their union, but it is their choice. They need the union to keep the North. It is no use to speak of these concerns to them…I have tried."

"I—I had a dream, or maybe it was real, I am not sure. They did not…I mean there was no…marriage, right?"

Tyrion stared at her, his face unreadable. "No. If there is to be a marriage the North must see it. Otherwise, they would not accept Daenerys as their true Queen. I have no doubt a marriage will take place, but it will be among the weirwood trees of Winterfell, I suppose."

There had been no marriage, she knew that for certain now. Arya sighed inwardly, taking another long sip of wine. Her relief only lasted a moment before she remembered where Jon was. In Daenerys' arms.

"Whatever you are feeling, put it out of your mind. It will only cause you madness," Tyrion said, low.

Arya met his intelligent eyes, giving nothing of the raging emotions she felt inside. "I do not know what you are talking about," she responded.

"Good," he said, taking a sip of wine. "Because, if you did it would only end in disaster. Just as they will end in disaster."

"And why does it bother you so much?" Arya asked, desperate to get the spotlight off of her.

"The same as you, my dear," he said, raising his glass to her in a toast. "Except, the feelings are not reciprocated as they are in your case."

Arya's eyes grew wide at his statement. She did not even try to hide her shock. How did he know? She swallowed, clamping down on her feelings, yet it was too late.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." She wanted to stand from the table and run from the room, but she forced herself to meet his knowing gaze. Arya reached for the pitcher, but Tyrion beat her to it. He carefully filled her cup, sitting back and continuing to stare at her.

"Can I give you some advice?" he asked.

"No," she mumbled.

This made Tyrion chuckle, but he continued on as if she had not said anything. "As soon as you can, take Robert's bastard and go back to Winterfell. Get Jon and Gendry as far away from each other as possible. If you stay, this situation will only get worse. I have watched those two, and they are two seconds away from exploding. Jon is the King of the North. One word from him and Gendry is dead, do you understand?"

"He would never," Arya whispered.

"Maybe not, but when a man is desperate he will do whatever is necessary. I do not know what has happened between the two of you, but I know it drove him into the arms of Daenerys."

"Maybe that is who he wanted," Arya said.

Tyrion gave her a small smile, shrugging his shoulders. "Perhaps, or perhaps he is with her, because he cannot be with you. Do you see how this can turn disastrous? As the Queen's hand you and Jon just made my job very difficult."

Arya looked away, shame burning her face. Yes, she could see how this situation could spin out of control. Would Jon harm Gendry if his anger grew out of control? Arya did not want to believe he was capable of such an act, but it had not been long ago Jon wanted to run from the Great War just to be with her. She could not put anything past him at this point.

"Is that the only reason you were standing outside her door tonight…because you were concerned?"

"It is the only reason that matters, I guess," he said, staring into his cup.

Arya stood, sitting her empty cup on the table. The world around her spun, the wine doing it's job. She left without another word, making sure to avoid Daenerys' room at all cost. She stumbled into Gendry's cabin. He was awake, staring at her as she came into the room.

"Where have you been?" he asked, softly. She could see hurt in his eyes. It sobered her up immediately. "Were you with him?" he asked, his jaw clenched at the mention of Jon.

Arya felt too tired to have this conversation. Her dream, Jon in Daenerys' room and Tyrion's words had drained her. She did not want to fight with Gendry. "No. I had some wine with Tyrion and then I came back here," she said, tired.

This seemed to surprise Gendry, leaving him at a loss for words. She walked towards him, moving his legs apart and standing before him. Her arms snaked around his neck. Gendry's face relaxed, his arms going around her waist and bringing her closer.

She leaned to within inches of his face. "I chose you," she whispered. "You do not have to question my every move, besides, Jon is in Daenerys' room tonight. There is nothing more for you to worry about."

Arya leaned away from Gendry, walking to the other side of the bed and climbing in. For a long time, he never moved from where he sat. She was not sure if it was because he was shocked that Jon and Daenerys were together, or if he was hurt to hear the brokenness in her voice.

For the longest time, Arya tried to ignore the pang of guilt in her stomach. Gendry had yet to move. She turned over and reached for him. When her hand touched his back she felt him tense.

"I will never have you completely, will I?" he asked. When he turned to look at her she felt shame again. His blue eyes drowned in a sea of desperation. He knew the answer without her having to answer, but she answered anyway.

"You have the part of me that matters. Please, let that be enough," she whispered.

"And if that is not enough for me?" he asked.

Arya did not answer him. She could not give him all of her, not yet anyway, even though he deserved all that she could give. Arya slowly climbed out of the bed and walked towards the door. She had every intention of leaving the room. She was so tired of hurting him, so tired of hurting herself. She never made it to the door as Gendry grabbed her arm. She stopped, closing her eyes. He turned her around, taking her face in his hands.

"I made you a promise that I would not go away again. I made you a promise that I would prove to you that I am the better choice. I know you have chosen me. Now, let me show you that that choice was the right one."

Gendry kissed her softly, picking her up and taking her back to the bed. He kissed her softly, over and over, until they both fell asleep in each other's arms.

The next day Gendry and Arya walked hand in hand towards the large room for a meeting Daenerys had called. Everyone was expected to be there, although Arya had no desire to come face to face with Jon. Not after last night. As much as she tried not to think about him and Daenerys spending the night together it burned in her memory.

When she and Gendry walked in the already full room the memory continued play in her mind. She kept her eyes down, never once looking up, even as she felt eyes staring straight through her. Her hand tightened in Gendry's, even as that small voice screamed at her to let him go.

When everyone was present Jon started to address them about what the plan was once they made it to King's Landing. With every word he spoke Arya felt the daggers in her chest stabbing over and over. She hated the way her body responded to his voice. But, what he said next caused a chill to run down her spine and her head to shoot up to stare at him in disbelief.

"Tormund, you and Gendry will head back to the Wall to man it with the other Wildlings, until such a time as I call you back. Eastwatch is vulnerable and I need strong men."

Arya stole a glance at Gendry and wished she had not. His face had grown beet red, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He dropped his hand from Arya's, balling them into fists. He was about to explode. Arya looked at Tyrion. She saw that knowing look in his eyes, a look that said he had been right the night before.

"Jon, may we talk about this? "Daenerys asked, low.

"There is nothing to talk about. I have made a decision for the safety of the North," Jon said.

"Like the Seven Hells, you have," Gendry said, deathly quiet.

Jon turned his full attention to Gendry, as if everyone else in the room was forgotten. The two men waged a silent war so ravaging Arya flinched. She had never seen such hatred pouring from either man. This went far beyond the safety of the North, and everyone in the room knew it. The Night's King could have walked in the room and his presence could have never been as cold as it was now.

"Do not pretend you are doing this for any other reason, but the one we both are aware of," Gendry said, taking a step towards Jon. At once, Jon's men stepped to their King's side, their hands drawn to their swords.

"Perhaps we should all take a step back and realize we are all on the same side here," Tyrion said, trying to put order back in the meeting.

"I agree. Ser Gendry, take a step back…now! Jon, tell your men to back down!" Daenerys said, standing to her feet. For the longest neither did as she said, but Gendry finally made the first move. He took a step back towards Arya, taking a long deep breath. Jon followed, nodding to his men that the situation was stable.

"I do not pretend to know what has happened between the two of you in such a short time, but I do know we have no time for such attitudes. We are all in this together. I agree that Eastwatch needs to be manned properly, but not by Ser Gendry. He is far more important at this stage."

Everyone turned their attention on Daenerys as she walked around the table to stand in front of Gendry. Arya was not sure what she was going to do, or what she meant by her words.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Gendry said.

"Ser Gendry, you are the bastard son of Robert Baratheon, which should make us enemies, but here we are fighting on the same side. I like to think neither you or I are anything like our fathers. We have an opportunity to change our family's history. I do not want you going to the Wall, for you can serve a bigger purpose than you have even imagined. Are you willing to do your part in this war?" Daenerys asked.

"I am, Your Grace," he answered.

"Bend the knee, Ser Gendry. Swear your loyalty to me and I will make you the legitimized son of Robert Baratheon, the last Baratheon. You will be Gendry Baratheon, first of his name, and by doing so you can unite Storm's End and Robert's bannermen to our cause. We will need every man, woman and child we can get."

"Do that, and he will take the Iron Throne for himself," Jon said, seething.

"I do not want that throne, nor any throne," Gendry shot back, his angry eyes back on Jon.

"Not if he swears fealty to me. Besides, I believe him when he says he does not want my throne." Daenerys turned to Jon, speaking, "Think of the army Gendry could rally behind us, Jon. Besides, I trust you not to betray me, I can trust Ser Gendry as well." She turned back to Gendry, waiting for his answer.

The moments ticked by in silence as everyone waited to see what Gendry would do. When the silence grew to the point Arya thought she would scream, Gendry finally made his move. Slowly, he dropped to one knee, looking up at Daenerys.

"I pledge my fealty to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen," he said, loud and clear. Daenerys looked down on him smiling. She laid her hand on his head.

"I, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, legitimize Ser Gendry as Robert Baratheon's true son from this day until his last day. Rise, Gendry…of House Baratheon."

Gendry rose to his feet, a new man. The legitimized son of Robert Baratheon and heir to Storm's End. He looked at Arya, smiling…proud. She smiled back, grateful to see his happiness. But, her eyes did not stay on him for long. When Gendry broke eye contact with her to look back at his queen, Arya turned towards Jon.

His eyes were upon her. She watched him lower his head and walk towards the window. The happiness faded as she watched his shoulders slump. He looked defeated. She wanted to go to him and wrap her arms around him, until he let go of his despair, but she could not. When Daenerys spoke next, Arya only saw Jon flinch at her words. She only saw his head bow lower. She only felt his anguish, for Daenerys had just given her away in marriage to the new heir to Robert Baratheon's legacy.


	16. Chapter 16

Arya slowly looked up at Gendry. He was staring at her, a sad smile upon his lips. Daenerys wanted to join the Starks and Baratheons as it was always intended to be. The marriage would bring a balance to both Houses that they desperately needed.

"As much as I would like nothing more, I must decline this for now, Your Grace," Gendry said, softly.

Daenerys looked surprised, as did Arya. Even Jon turned around, a sudden hope filling his eyes. Gendry took Arya's hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing her knuckles gently.

"The day I marry this woman I want it to be because she chose me to be her husband. I do not want it forced upon her. She must choose me, as I have chosen her."

Arya felt her love for Gendry grow with each passing moment. She wrapped her arms around him, not caring who was watching, not even Jon. He held her tightly, kissing the top of her head. He wanted it to be her choice.

"A wise choice, Lord Gendry. Very well, there will be no marriage between Stark and Baratheon, until you both choose it."

Gendry was now the legitimate son of King Robert Baratheon, which was hard for Arya to wrap her mind around. She still saw the poor boy from Flea Bottom on the road to Harrenhall. Now, he stood before her as a former King's son and Lord of Storm's End. He had turned to talk to Davos, which gave her a moment to study him. His change in status had no effect on her feelings for him. She would love him still, even if he was that penniless boy working in the forge.

Arya left the room, leaving Gendry to discuss some urgent matters with Daenerys. She walked towards her cabin, feeling suddenly tired by what had just taken place. She stepped into her dark cabin, closing the door behind her.

The moment the door closed she felt a presence behind her. She reached to light a candle, but a hand grabbed her arm and turned her around, pushing her against the door. Lips crashed against hers, lips she knew well. She had not even noticed when Jon had left the meeting, but here he was kissing her. At first, her body reacted to his kiss, but her mind reminded her of what she heard last night in Daenerys' room.

As hard as she could, Arya pushed against his chest sending him harshly away from her. Without thinking, she struck him across the face, her anger boiling hot. He had no right to touch her, no right to be here.

"Get out," she whispered, angrily.

"No!" He said, just as angry.

He walked towards her again, keeping her captive against the door. His body leaned against hers, awaking something inside of her. She felt it grow deep in her stomach and spread throughout her body. She cursed herself for reacting this way to him.

"You cannot marry him. You know deep inside of you that you cannot do this, because we are meant to be together," he whispered against her lips.

"Yet, that did not stop you last night," Arya whispered back. The hurt in her voice was raw and scorching.

Jon grew still, his eyes reaching hers. At first, he looked confused, but as the seconds past he realized what she was talking about. The blood drained from his face, his eyes growing wide.

"I went to speak with Daenerys, but when I made it to her cabin I realized she was not alone. You were with her."

"Arya, please…" Jon began, but Arya interrupted him.

"You fucked her, and yet you stand before me and tell me I cannot marry Gendry, because we are meant to be together? How dare you!" she spat.

"You left me! I poured my soul out to you and you just turned and walked away like it was nothing. You cannot even begin to imagine what that felt like. I was out of my mind, not thinking straight. I wanted the pain to go away!" He cried.

"So fuck her…fuck her every day to ease your pain, but do not stand here and spit words of love to me about how we are meant to be. I do not know what that pain feels like? I feel it every moment of every day!" she yelled, in his face.

Jon leaned forward, tears in his eyes. His lips touched her, caressing them as if they were the most precious thing to him. As much as she did not want this, her lips responded back. Arya's mind could not let go of what she knew happened between him and Daenerys, and in the end her hurt won out. She pushed him away again, this time moving from the door.

She walked to the other side of the room, her back turned to Jon. "Please, leave. Gendry will be here soon, and I do not want him to see you here," she said, choked.

"I am already here."

With a gasp, Arya looked towards the door. Gendry stepped inside, his rage barely contained underneath the surface. His eyes were not upon her, but upon Jon. Arya flinched as the door slammed into place. She swallowed as he turned the lock, locking all three of them in the same room. Her first thought was to scream for help, but her throat was so dry she could barely speak.

Jon did not cower away, or back down, but turned and faced Gendry fully. "Good, cause you need to hear what I have to say," Jon said.

"As do you," Gendry responded, his voice deadly. At the same time, both men took a step towards each other.

"You will never marry her. She and I belong together, we always have. You will never have all of her, for there will always be a part of her that is mine. Do yourself, and all of us a favor, and walk away before this turns into a fight you cannot win," Jon said.

Gendry chuckled, his hands drawing into fists. "You are her brother. Do you really think the North will allow you to have her? They will condemn you both, along with Queen Daenerys. You could send the two of you to your deaths, but you do not care about that. You would do whatever just to see she does not choose me, as long as she never chooses anyone but you."

Both men, at once, cut the remaining distance between them. They stood toe to toe wearing similar masks of rage. For several seconds not a word was spoken, allowing an eerie silence to fill the room.

"You have no idea my feelings for Arya. I would put a dagger through my own heart before ever allowing something to happen to her. I have always loved her more than I love myself. If she chose another I would walk away if it made her happy."

"Then why are you still here? She made her choice, and she chose me," Gendry asked.

Jon smiled, yet it held no warmth or good feeling. "Because I know she still loves me, and if there is even the smallest of chances that she would be with me I am going to fight for it." A look of doubt passed over Gendry's features. His eyes cut to Arya for a moment before coming back to Jon. "You know what I say is truth. I will fight you, the North, Daenerys, whoever I must."

"Fight Daenerys? Or do you mean fuck?" Gendry said, with a laugh.

Suddenly, Jon grabbed Gendry by the front of his shirt and rammed him into the door, causing the wood to groan. Gendry fought back, trying to push himself from the door, but Jon's rage gave him a boost of power.

"What I did last night I regret. You have no right to use it against me in front of her. If you want to play that game I will remind Arya how you were so willing to turn her away. You would have allowed her to leave without you, because you did not care about her safety back then. You would have let her leave alone to gods knows what!" Jon spat.

"Let. Me. Go," Gendry said, low and deadly.

Jon made no move to do as Gendry commanded. Instead, his hold on him grew stronger. Gendry grabbed Jon's head, smashing his head into Jon's. Jon stumbled back, his eyes glazed from the hit, but he recovered just in time take a blow to the face from Gendry's fist.

The room erupted into chaos as the two men went at each other in relentless anger. Arya came out of her shock and hurried towards them, trying to pry them apart.

"Enough!" she screamed, finally getting their attention. Jon and Gendry stumbled away from each other, looking at her with dazed and angered expressions.

"This is not going to resolve anything! I do not want this, nor will I stand for such behavior. We are facing a war of which none of us have ever seen, and the two of you are fighting like children! I am not property for the two of you to fight over."

Arya threw her hands in the air, yelling in anger. She was at the end of her rope with this whole situation, and now it had come to blows between them. She was slowly losing her mind, which Jon and Gendry were not helping.

"Out! The both of you, get out!" she said, pointing to the door.

"Arya, please," Gendry said.

"No, I want to be alone, and I want the two of you out of my sight! I am going to have peace one way or the other…even if that includes neither of you!"

Jon moved first, the fight going out of him. He turned, but stopped when his eyes met Gendry. The two men looked at each other with such loathing Arya felt her heart break. It was her fault, really. They would never grow to like one another because of her.

"This is not over. Stay away from her," Gendry said, low.

Jon took one last look at Arya before leaving the room. For a moment, Gendry made no move to leave. Arya had been serious, she wanted them both to leave. When he took a step towards her, she held her hand up for him to stop.

"Please, Gendry. Please, leave," she whispered. She saw the hurt in his eyes, yet she needed to make it clear she would not stand for such actions from either of them. Both men were stubborn, and she feared this was going down a path that would lead to one of them being dead at the other's hands.

Gendry's shoulders slumped in defeat, but he did as she asked. For the remainder of the day, Arya was left to her thoughts.

The next day, Arya ventured to the top of the ship. It was early morning, which meant not many people were above deck, but there was one person present and she walked over to them. They were standing at the front of the ship, leaning on the railing and staring ahead. She stood beside them, remaining quiet, but she knew they had seen her.

"We should be there soon," the Hound said, low. He looked as though he was deep in thought. She wondered if he was thinking about his brother, who was rumored to be at Cersei's side. If that were the case he would come face to face with him in a matter of hours.

"That is good," Arya responded.

He cut his eyes to her, half smiling. "You still got that list of yours?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, feeling the hatred for the people on her list escalate.

"Put it out of your mind today. You know what is at stake, and you cannot go hacking away at the people on that list."

Arya chuckled. "Neither can you. If the rumors are true he will be there. You ready for that?"

The Hound did not answer, his face growing dark with past memories of hated and pain. "My brother's time will come, but I know it will not be today."

"I am sorry, you know," Arya said, quietly.

The Hound looked down at her, turning to face her fully. "My brother's actions are not your problem to apologize for."

"N—no, not that. I am sorry for leaving you to die. I—I was messed up back then. I really did not want you to die," Arya said.

The Hound just stared at her, his face a wall of stone. It was hard to read what he was feeling. Finally, he sighed and turned back to watch the sea.

"There is nothing to apologize for. I needed that moment of mortality to put some things into perspective." His response was so quiet she barely heard it over the wind. "I am sorry about your butcher's boy."

"I do not even remember what he looks like anymore. It seems like another lifetime ago," she said, sadly.

"So we are even?" he asked.

Arya looked up at his scarred face, smiling. "Yeah…we are even."

They grew quiet as the ship sailed ahead. By midday she and the Hound were joined by others. She refused to look at Jon or Gendry when they arrived. She was still angry with them.

"That is not a sight you see every day," The Hound said, pointing ahead of them.

Everyone looked out onto Blackwater Bay to see a thousand ships with the Greyjoy sigil flying on their flags. Everything else was forgotten as everyone gathered to look at the ships. Arya realized that they all could be dead in a few hours, stepping into enemy territory.

The ship floated into the harbor, docking and everyone got off. Someone was there to meet them, someone smiling at Tyrion as if they were old friends.

"I should have known it would be you waiting. How are you, Bronn?" Tyrion asked.

"Doing rather well these days" the man said, a huge smile on his face. "Well, if you lot will follow me, the queen is waiting."

Arya allowed Tyrion, Jon, Davos and Jorah to take the lead, noticing Daenerys was no where to be seen. Had she abandoned them at their hour of need? No, that was not her way. Perhaps, she wanted to make a bigger entrance. She looked up to the sky, yet there was nothing there but clouds.

"Are you still mad at me?"

Arya looked down to see Gendry standing before her. Her eyes grew wide at his attire. Gone were the rags of a peasant, and before her stood royalty. He was dressed in rustic yellow leather shirt and black pants with a black stag rampant on a golden field…his House's sigil. Around his shoulders he wore a thick cape of fur. Standing before her was every bit of Robert Baratheon's son.

"The Queen thought I should start dressing like my status. She said it will send Cersei into a frenzy."

"I think she may be right," Arya said, stunned.

Gendry walked towards her, touching her cheek lightly with his thumb. "I am still the same Gendry you met that day we left for the Wall. I will still do everything I can to protect you, to love you," he said, softly.

She took his hand in hers, squeezing. "I know who you are. It is just a shock to see you like this. I am happy for you, though."

"Will you forgive me? For last night? I allowed my feelings to get the better of me, and when I saw him in your room…I just lost it."

Arya closed her eyes for a moment, desperate for this situation to go away. "The both of you need to understand you cannot hurt the other without hurting me."

"I know," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

They walked with the group, meeting up with Brienne of Tarth of Poddrick half way to their destination. Arya watched Brienne and the Hound exchange some words, worried what would happen, but surprised when they remained civil. At one point, both of them even turned to look at her. Her curiosity was peeked when they both smiled, as if proud of something.

Before them loomed the dragon pit in all its glory. Even after years and years of decay it was still a sight to behold. They walked to the center, looking around for Cersei and her people, yet there was no one there.

"Have we been tricked?" she whispered, to Gendry.

Gendry put a hand on his warhammer at his side. "Maybe…but they better attack before Daenerys gets here," he responded.

Before she could respond Cersei appeared with the Gold Cloaks and a few other people she recognized. The most obvious was the mountain of a man at her side. Arya looked over at the Hound to see his reaction, and it was the same as hers…shock. Something was different about the Mountain, and when he passed her she realizes it was the man's eyes. What little of his eyes and face she could see caused her stomach to drop. He had become an abomination, but what had happened to him?

"Where is she?" Cersei seethed, as she sat and waited.

"She will be here shortly," Tyrion said, a feeling of unease scattering throughout the group.

Cersei turned in disgust away from her brother in Arya and Gendry's direction. At first, there was no recognition in the woman's eyes, but the more she stared the more she realized who Arya was.

"I thought you were dead," she said, none too nicely.

"I imagine you did," Arya bit back.

Cersei smiled, chuckling, yet it held no humor. Her eyes turned to Gendry next, and the smile died from her face. She stared at him, a look of shock passing across her beautiful features.

"You, step forward," she commanded.

All eyes turned to Gendry, and Arya felt a sudden need to protect him. What was Daenerys thinking showing Cersei who Gendry was?

"Sister, this is not why we are here. We have more urgent…"

"Step. Forward," she seethed, talking over Tyrion.

Gendry did as he asked, holding his head high. He stared at Cersei, showing no fear. Several emotions crossed the woman's face as she continued to stare at Gendry.

"It is like looking at a ghost from my past," she whispered. She was lost in memories of a long ago time when all of this bloodshed started. "You look so much like him when we first became man and wife."

Arya was surprised to see sadness cross the woman's eyes. She had overheard her parents talking one night of what could have been between Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon had it not been for her aunt Lyanna. The marriage had been doomed from the very beginning.

The sadness disappeared leaving a cold woman in its place. "I thought I had all of you bastards killed," she said, laughing.

"You missed one," he threw back at her.

"So I see. My mistake. By your state of dress I see you have been legitimized. Have you come with your dragon bitch queen to take back your father's throne? I never imagined Daenerys Targaryen would unite with Robert's spawn, but it is a good play. I suppose marriage will come next, giving both of you a right to the Iron Throne?"

Gendry turned to Arya, as if a magnet drew him to her. Cersei thought Gendry and Daenerys would marry. Arya never thought about it, but she had a point. Their claims to Iron Throne would be sealed. It made Arya's stomach roll to think about.

"Oh, of course," Cersei spoke, pulling Arya's attention back to her. "You Baratheons were always hard up for Northern Stark girls."

"We have not come here to have such talk! There is something we need to discuss, something more important that anything that has happened between our Houses."

"Yet, your queen does not find it important to join us," Cersei said, yet no one had a chance to refute her statement. Above them, a screech sounded making everyone look up.

Daenerys came into view riding Drogon. The sight of the remaining two dragons was still awe-inspiring. Drogon landed in the dragon pit, allowing Daenerys to climb from his back and join them. Cersei's anger was at a boiling point, knowing full well Daenerys was trying to show her might to all involved.

The meeting got underway, as all involved listened to Tyrion and Jon. Arya wondered if this would work, of they could trust Cersei to join their fight. In her opinion it was a risky move, but they had no choice now. They needed everyone…including Cersei.

Even as the Hound unleashed the undead, Arya still had her doubts. The woman looked scared, and it was the first time Arya had ever seen her shaken. She stared at the undead creature with a mix of curiosity and fear. When Jon drove a dragonglass dagger into its chest she flinched. They had her on their side, until Jon refused to stay in the North, making it clear who his allegiance belonged to.

Cersei left them with an understanding they were on their own. She slowed as she made it to Arya and Gendry, her eyes roaming to the latter. "If you think by having his name it will win you a crown you have a rude awakening coming."

"I do not want his crown, nor his throne. When the Night's King comes none of that will matter anymore."

"And when he comes I hope he takes you first…you and your Stark whore."

Cersei did not wait for Gendry to answer. She turned and walked away. Arya felt a burning rage surge in her blood, coiling around her stomach. She took a step towards the woman, but Gendry reacted immediately.

"Let her go, Arya. Now is not the time," he said, softly in her ear.

"I am going to kill her…slowly."

"If she does not join us, you may not have to," he responded.

Tyrion passed them, going towards the direction Cersei had walked. Arya's eyes grew wide as she realized he was going to speak to his sister. That was a death sentence.

"Tyrion," Arya called, feeling a great wave of concern for the imp.

He looked back at her, giving her a tight smile. "I will return…I hope."

They were all left to watch him disappear, not knowing if he would return. Arya looked around at their small group, stopping when she noticed Jon and Daenerys talking. The woman was smitten, you could see it in her eyes. Still, after everything, Arya felt a tinge of jealousy. She watched her touch his arm, squeezing.

Daenerys walked around Jon and headed towards Arya and Gendry. Gendry turned to her and bowed his head. She responded with a smile.

"Lord Gendry, your queen needs your services for the war to come. Are you willing to do whatever is necessary?" she asked.

"What does my queen ask of me?" Gendry responded.

"I need you to travel to Storm's End and unite your House's bannermen. Allow them to see a Baratheon lives, and the House remains. They will rally behind you and you will bring them into this war."

Gendry did not respond at first, his eyes traveling to Jon. "and when do you want me to leave?" he asked, low.

"We will go to Winterfell from here. I will give you a few days of rest and then you may leave then. We need those men."

"As my queen commands," Gendry said, bowing his head.

Daenerys walked away, leaving Arya and Gendry in silence. She reached for his hand, taking it in her own. They would be separated again, for how long she was not sure. Arya did not want him to go.

"I guess Jon will get his wish," Gendry said, taking his hand from hers and walking off, leaving her to watch his retreating back.


	17. Chapter 17

"What does that mean? Jon will finally get his wish?" Arya asked, following Gendry to his cabin.

Tyrion had somehow changed Cersei's mind, getting her to join in the Great War, and now they were headed back to Winterfell. Arya had followed Gendry onto the ship, his words playing over and over in her head.

"What do you think it means, Arya? I will leave and you will stay in Winterfell, everything he wants."

Gendry sat down heavily on the bed, resting his head in his hands. She watched him for a moment, trying to find the words to put his worries at ease. She walked towards him, pushing his hands down, so he would look up at her.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

Gendry looked up at her, surprised by her words, yet he did not hesitate. He stood from the bed, his large frame towering over her. He gently reached down, covering her lips with his in a slow embrace. She ran her hands in his hair, grabbing the back of his head and applying more pressure to her kiss. He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up.

Arya wrapped her legs around his mid-section, feeling his strength all around her. He turned them, slowly laying her on the bed and climbing on top of her. For a moment he did not move, only looked down at her. She saw uncertainty in his eyes, felt him hesitate. This was her moment to make a decision. Did she really want this, for once it started she would not stop? Yes, she wanted this very much.

Arya leaned up, taking his lips again. Gendry responded immediately, opening his mouth and reaching his tongue out to taste her lips. She opened up for him allowing his tongue to caress the inside of her mouth.

He lifted her off the bed to straddle him as his hands went to her shirt. She watched them shake as they began to pull the shirt over her head. "Are you nervous?" she asked, smiling.

Gendry chuckled, stopping his movements, "Yes, M'lady, I am very nervous," he whispered.

She kissed him again, "We can be nervous together," she said, against his lips.

He pulled her shirt over her head, staring at what awaited for him underneath. Arya felt a sudden stab of embarrassment. She had never been exposed like this to a man before, and his silence worried her. That is, until he spoke again.

"So beautiful," he whispered.

His lips found the crook of her neck as his fingers danced their way down her naked back. She arched in to him, a soft moan on her lips. His lips traveled further down, leaving small trails of kisses in their wake. When his tongue found one nipple she cried out, surprising herself, but when he took her in his mouth those cries turned to moans again. He moved from one breast to the other, sucking and kissing.

She grabbed his shirt, pulling it upwards. Gendry chuckled when Arya growled at the shirt for not moving fast enough. He leaned back, helping her. When his chest was bare, it was her turn to stare. Those years in the forge had left him with sculpted muscles. As she moved her hand around his chest she saw them tense. Gendry was strong, but she always knew that.

He stood them from the bed, reaching for the top of her pants. She stared at him, as if she was not sure what to do next. "May I?" he asked. She nodded her head, feeling her nervousness grow.

Gendry pulled her pants down slowly, exposing her fully to him. His eyes roamed over her entire body, his face showing love and awe. It was Arya's turn to shake as she pulled his pants down as well. They both now stood in front of one another naked. She took a quick peek below and felt her cheeks burn hot. She had seen his manhood before, but never like this. He stepped towards her, wrapping his arms around her once more.

Her nervousness was forgotten the moment his lips found hers. He sucked her bottom lip, sending a jolt of lust running from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. And in that moment, it finally happened.

Arya let go of everything. She let go of her worry and her pain. She let go of what would happen tomorrow and where they would go from here. She let go of her love for Jon…and her feeling of betrayal. Nothing else mattered in that moment, but the man that held her in his arms. Not the past. Not the future. Only the present. In that moment, she gave Gendry everything she was.

When he entered her, Arya cried out in pain. Gendry held still, his entire body shaking with the effort, but a look of love shown down on her from his eyes. Arya stared into those blue orbs waiting for her body to relax and welcome him. She had heard the first time it hurt, and that was no lie, but soon she found herself wanting him to move inside of her. When he did not, she moved for them both causing Gendry to suck in a breath.

He took over, rocking in to her slowly at first, but that was not enough. Arya needed more. She kissed his chest, biting him softly. Gendry responded by thrusting harder, causing Arya to moan his name.

"Look at me," he said, panting.

Arya did as he said, holding him for dear life. Something was building within her, something she had never felt, yet she knew she needed to release it before it drove her over the edge. She cried out, too frightened of the feeling, yet she did not want it stop.

"Arya, look at me!" He said, growling.

Instead of looking at him, she turned him over, climbing on top of him and taking control. Gendry looked shocked at first, but when she rocked into him his shock turned into lust. His eyes grew hooded, his lips pulled back in a sensual snarl. He grabbed her hips, setting the tone and thrusting her harder into him.

Arya threw her head back, a scream upon her lips, but she held it in. Deeper and deeper he went inside of her, as if becoming apart of her. His body was made for her, as she was made for him. She grabbed his shoulders feeling as if she were about to fall over the edge.

Gendry sat up, pounding harder and harder, crying out her name. She wrapped herself around him, as if he held her down instead of gravity. His teeth sank into the soft skin of her shoulder making her scream. The scream spilled from her lips like a wave over the shore. Her eyes grew dazed, her mind a jumbled mess.

"Please, Gendry," she begged, yet she did not know what she was begging for.

"Cum for me, Arya…only me," he whispered, in her ear.

His words caused her body to seize, caused the colors to explode behind her closed eyelids. Suddenly, she had no control over her body. The feelings building up in the pit of her stomach exploded drowning her in a sensation she had never known before.

Gendry captured her lips again as they both screamed in ecstasy. Arya felt scared for a moment, for she had no idea what was happening to her, but Gendry's hold on her tightened letting her know she was not alone.

She rested her forehead on his, her body shaking. Gendry rubbed her back, kissing her temple every so often. Arya did not know what to say, could not find the right words to speak. What she had just experienced was more powerful than she could have ever imagined.

"Are you alright?" Gendry finally asked, softly.

"I—I do not know. Is it supposed to be that intense?" she asked, like a child.

Gendry smiled, a beautiful breathtaking smile. "I do not know, but I hope so."

He laid them down, wrapping the thick blankets on top of their naked body. Arya was surprised at how exhausted she was, when she was fill of energy before. He pulled her towards him, resting her head upon his chest. She could hear his heart beating, could hear it finally beat at a normal pace. She closed her eyes, and before she knew it she was fast asleep.

The next day, Arya awoke to an empty bed. Her arm moved the length of the bed searching for Gendry, but he was gone. She sat up with a start, fearful it had been a dream, but the moment she moved she moaned in pain. She was sore from head to toe. Slowly, she laid back down, thinking over the night before. She had given herself to Gendry. How did she feel about that? When asked that question a voice in her head whispered Jon's name over and over. She shut her mind off. He was the last person she wanted to think about in that moment.

Making love to Gendry had made her decision final, and whatever she felt for Jon she would have to ignore. Those feelings would never go away, but the moment he gave himself to Daenerys he lost all rights to her heart. Did he not? Yes, he did, and now she had given herself to Gendry.

The door came open and Gendry slipped inside. Her cheeks grew hot again as she remembered what he looked like naked, what he felt like inside of her. "When you look at me like that it makes me want to ravage you again," he said, smiling.

"And how am I looking at you?" she asked, innocently.

He laughed, shaking his head. "I swear, you will be the death of me." He walked towards the bed, stripping as he went. When he climbed in beside her his lips were kissing every part of her. For the second time Arya gave herself to Gendry, this time being as intense as the first time.

Arya looked over at Gendry's sleeping form, giving him a small smile. His mouth was slightly open as he softly snored. His arm snaked around her naked waist. She softly moved his arm, careful not wake him. She eased out of the bed, dressing as fast as she could. She was about to die of thirst, and needed some air as well. Arya tip-toed to the door, looking back at Gendry one more time before slipping out.

She found her way to the room where they all met, and where she knew some wine was stored. Sure enough, Tyrion's wine was waiting for her in its pitcher. She poured herself a full cup and sat down at the table. It had turned night, which meant everyone was probably sleeping, so when she heard someone enter behind her, Arya looked back in surprise. When she saw who it was, she felt her good mood vanish.

Jon entered, walking towards her and taking a seat to her right. He reached for the pitcher of wine and poured himself a glass. She watched him in silence as he took a long drink. He filled the cup back up, yet did not take another sip, instead he looked up and met her stare.

"Do you know who came and had a chat with me earlier?"

Arya shook her head, suddenly feeling the need to run from the room. She did not want to hear the rest, for she already knew what he was going to say.

"I guess I deserve it in a way, after everything I have done. Gendry had a lot to say to me, a lot I am having a hard time forgetting." Arya closed her eyes, her stomach rolling. What had Gendry done? Why? "He did not go into detail," Jon said, laughing without humor. "I do not think I could have let him walk away from me alive if he had, but he told me enough that I can imagine."

Tears sprang to Arya's eyes as she watched Jon fight his own emotions. "What did he say?" she asked, barely able to speak.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes!" she growled. "Yes, it matters."

Jon took another long swig of his wine, not answering her for a long while. "He said he had won. He said you gave yourself to him in a way I would never know."

Arya sat back in her chair, feeling like everything she had experienced the night before was a dream. Gendry had betrayed her, used her to get back at Jon. And she had allowed it.

"I have been thinking about the past few days. We screwed it all up, did we not?" Jon asked, a teary smile upon his face. "I think about that day in Dragonstone, the day I should have followed my heart instead of my head. I know now that I cannot change what I have done. I cannot take back pushing you away, and I cannot take back sleeping with Daenerys. I have been so blinded by my desperation that I have lost sight that if I do not win this war it will not matter who you have chosen. So, I will let you go if that is what you truly want. Gendry showed me tonight I have lost all chance with you."

A tear escaped her eyes, rolling down her cheek. All she could think about was why Gendry would do what he did. She had given herself blindly, not realizing how deep their rivalry had become. Both of them had betrayed her.

"I would rather have you in my life any way I can get you than to push you away. I can never like Gendry, but I can keep the peace for you. I will do whatever it takes to bring you peace, to make you happy, even if that means forgetting my love for you. I—I am so sorry, Arya," Jon said, his emotions running deep.

"So am I," she whispered. "He—he should have never…" Arya could not finish, her heart too heavy.

"It is what I deserved. He woke me up, made me see my mistakes. I cannot lie that it hurts, but it was no different than what I did to you. I know he loves you, I have always known, which makes it so much worse."

"He—He told you?" Arya said, her anger rising.

She did not wait for Jon to answer, but jumped from the chair and stormed out. She hurried towards his cabin, the tears falling freely. Even as she burst through the door, surprising him into waking, she felt the betrayal grow stronger. He looked at her, surprise and concern playing in his eyes. Arya stood by the door, afraid to go near him for fear of what she would do.

"You told Jon about what we did?" she whispered, venom in her words.

Gendry closed his eyes, sighing heavily. It was all the answer she needed. She stormed towards him, slapping him across the face as hard as she could. Gendry took the hit, his cheek growing red in an instant.

"I see he wasted no time in telling you," Gendry spat.

"No," Arya said, shaking her head wildly. "You do not get to involve him in this…not this time. This is all on you."

"What? You think I arranged this whole thing so that I could throw it up in his face. Do you really think I am capable of doing that to you?" Gendry stood from the bed, standing mere inches from her. "Last night was the most amazing night of my life. I meant everything I said and did with you. I did not go out in search of Jon to rub it in his face. It just happened!"

"It just happened?" Arya said, sarcastically. "You took something so beautiful and pure between us and turned it into a weapon to use against him…to hurt him! Do not try and deny it."

"I do not!" Gendry yelled. "I do not deny that I enjoyed the look of shock on his face. I do not deny that it felt good, but everything that happened between us was real, I swear it. There is no way to fake that, Arya."

"You betrayed me, just as he betrayed me. You are no better now!"

"Arya, let us calm down and talk about this before we say and do something we regret," Gendry said, reaching for her arm. She jerked away from him. There was nothing more to discuss, nothing more left to say. She slowly backed away from him towards the door.

"So, what, you run to him now? I am sorry for what I did, but I swear on everything I am what happened between us was real. It happened because I love you and want only you. I became so angry with him I could not control that rage and I wanted to lash out."

"You did an excellent job," she whispered.

Gendry's hand fell to his side, his eyes growing wide. "So, now you will go back to him, is that what you are trying to say?"

Arya closed her eyes, her pain and anger boiling over. "No, I will not go back to him, nor will I stay with you. Both of you do not deserve me. So, I will chose myself and walk away from you both!"

With that, she turned from Gendry and stormed out of the room. She took the stairs two at a time, until the cold night's wind hit her face. She ran towards the bow of the ship, her vision blurred by the tears. She grabbed the railing, squeezing until her hands screamed in pain. Neither Jon nor Gendry deserved her, for both had yet to grow up to be men. They were so caught up in their rivalry, in their lust for winning, that they forgot their actions could hurt her. Well, let both of them live their life without her in it, for she could not go on like this any longer. Each decision she made backfired. She only knew one person that she could truly rely on, and that was herself.

Standing on the bow of the ship, Arya made a decision for herself. She chose neither Jon nor Gendry. She chose her own peace and happiness. Arya chose herself, chose to be alone. She closed her eyes and shut her heart to the two men, sealing them away from her love. For hours she stood and allowed the cold air to creep into her soul. She did not move until she was certain she could look both men in the face and not feel a thing.

As she turned to leave something small fell in front of her. Arya stopped, looking around the ship. For several seconds nothing happened, and then she saw it again. It slowly drifted in her vision and back out again. Her head lifted towards the sky, and she saw several things coming her way.

She reached her hand out, taking them in her palm, yet they melted right away. Her eyes grew wide as she realized what it was. Snow. It was snowing in the south.


	18. Chapter 18

One snowflake after the other fell from the heavens. All Arya could do was watch with wide eyes. Had it ever snowed in the south before? She could not ever remember a time that it did… not even in stories of the time before she was born. Yet, here she was on the bow of a ship watching the white flakes fall freely. The temperature seemed to drop considerably in the few moments she stood and watched. Seeing snow was nothing new to her, yet in that moment it felt like a dark omen.

She rushed from the bow of the ship, running towards the large room where she knew most everyone would be. She had to tell them what was happening just so she knew what she was seeing was not a trick of the mind. Sure enough, everyone was standing around talking quietly to one another. She burst through the room, her breath coming out in pants. Everyone turned towards her, surprise evident in their eyes. Jon was the first to respond, walking towards her.

"Arya?" He asked, concerned.

"You all must come see this," she said, turning to leave without seeing if they followed.

She did not have to look, for she heard their footsteps behind her. She led them through the ship up to the bow. The moment she came into the light again it had begun to snow harder. She heard gasps behind her as everyone came on deck.

"What in the seven hells," Tyrion said.

Arya turned to see everyone looking up and watching the snowfall. The snow stuck to their hairs and clothes. The wind blew through them causing many to shiver. Arya swore the temperature continued to drop. It happened so suddenly, so fast. She looked out over Blackwater Bay towards the Red Keep in the distance. Snow began to cover its red walls. Arya shivered at the suddenly realization that places like where Gendry grew up, in the poorest reaches of the city, would not be prepared for weather such as this. Many people would die on this night in the shadow of the Red Keep.

"How?" Brienne breathed.

Everyone turned towards Jon, as if he had all the answers. His eyes were turned to the north, as of he could see far and beyond them. His mind was hundreds of miles away.

"Winter has come for us all," he whispered. His words were spoken more to himself, but everyone heard them. Arya felt a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with weather. "I need a raven," he said, headed towards the bottom of the ship.

"Jon, what does this mean?" Daenerys asked.

Jon stopped, his back to them. For a few moments he spoke not a word, just shook his head. He turned to them, and for the first time Arya saw fear in his dark eyes.

"I cannot be certain, but this may be a sign that the White Walkers have breached the wall. They are in Westeros."

His words caused a hush to run throughout all that heard his words. "Impossible. The wall cannot fall," Gendry said.

"Not by man's hand… no. But the Night's King is no man. And he has a dragon." Daenerys visibly flinched at Jon's reminder of her lost dragon.

Jon disappeared below, leaving everyone to their own thoughts. Arya slowly looked up at the darkening clouds overhead. Did this really mean the White Walkers were in Westeros? If it did that meant Winterfell was in their path. Suddenly, the ship felt as though it were going at a snail's pace.

It took days to get to where they were going, yet the snow did not ease up. Everyday Arya came above deck, and everyday the snow grew larger in her palm. They docked and bought horses for the remainder of the ride to Winterfell. Snow was nothing new here in the North. No one seemed bothered by the large flakes, yet Arya wanted to scream at them to prepare. Prepare for what she was not sure. There were not many words spoken between the people in her group. Everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts. She glanced at Gendry. His eyes were dark, his face worried. Everyone wore a similar look upon their face.

Jon had sent a raven to the wall days early, yet there had been no response. He had sent three more out yesterday… yet Arya felt he would get nothing back from those either. The war between Jon and Gendry seemed to take a backseat to these new events, which gave Arya a moment to breathe. Gendry rode beside her, yet not much had been said between them. He wore the colors of his House, as he had done since the meeting with Cersei. He truly was a Baratheon. The people of the towns they passed on their way to Winterfell noticed a new Baratheon in their group. They would stare and point at him, whispering hushed words to their companions. He seemed not to notice this exchange.

They traveled by day and stayed in taverns by night. On the last night of their journey to Winterfell Arya sat at the window watching the snowfall. They had stopped for the night at a local tavern. It was the dead of night and most everyone was sleeping. The ground was covered in several feet of the white powder. She watched the slow movement of the snow clouds over the moon. Her father's words of winter played in her mind over and over. He had tried to prepare his children for the Long Night, but how do you prepare one for certain death? She had been so young all those years ago. She never understood his words, not like Robb or even Jon did. To her, they were just words spoken. Now, watching the clouds roll over the large moon they made sense. Summer was finally at an end giving way to the Long Night ahead. Old Nan used to say she knew nothing of such times, for she was born in Summer. Old Nan was gone, along with her father, mother and brothers. They would sleep in the Long Night to come.

There was a knock at the door, bringing Arya out of her thoughts. When she opened the door Jon stood before her. He looked so tired, so lost. Perhaps that is why she moved and allowed him inside her room. He walked inside, as if a large weight was upon his shoulders. Arya closed the door, locking it and turning to face him. He was not looking at her, though. His eyes searched beyond the window to the night.

"I have not received a raven back from the Wall, but that is all the answer I need." His words were so low she barely understood them.

"There could be another reason they have not answered you," she said, hopeful.

He slowly nodded his head, turning to face her. Had she ever seen his face look so tired? He tried giving her a small smile, yet it never reached his dark eyes. In that moment, she would do anything to make that look go away. He was hurting, scared. His brothers of the Night's Watch was unaccounted for. The Night's King could be moving towards Winterfell as they stood there talking. All of this weighed heavily on Jon.

"Tell me what to do," Arya whispered, her pain showing.

"I do not want to be alone tonight, Arya. May I stay? May I hold you one last time?"

Arya walked to Jon, wrapping her arms around him. He did not hesitate to engulf her. All was forgotten. All was forgiven. She held him, feeling the weight upon his shoulders give way. She led him to her bed where they spent the night entangled in each other's arms. Jon placed soft kisses atop Arya's head, each one causing tears to well up in her eyes until they spilled over.

"I know that you love him. But, I know that you love me too," Jon whispered. The room was pitch dark, but she could hear the emotions in his voice. She could hear his heart breaking as hers broke with him. Yes, she loved them both.

"I do love him. I do love you," she responded, just as quietly.

"I must ask something of you," he said.

"Anything," Arya responded.

For a moment, Jon did not speak. She could feel his body shake slightly, could feel the war raging within him. Whatever he was going to say he found his words difficult to speak. That scared her. She held to him tighter, resting her face in the crook of his neck.

"Stay close to him in the days to come. If the Night's King is here he will find his way to Winterfell in a short time. Stay close to Gendry during this time. He… he will protect you and keep you safe. There is no doubt in my mind. When Winterfell falls…"

"No!" Arya cried, a sob in her throat.

"When Winterfell falls, Gendry will see you safe from the carnage. You will go with him without question."

"What about you?" she said, her tears falling on his neck.

"I think we both know the answer to that," Jon whispered in response.

Arya sat up, looking down at him. She could barely see him, all except for his eyes. They were covered in unshed tears. It all made sense now. Jon had come to her on this night to say his goodbyes. He was planning a suicide mission.

"You have no armies! You have no way of fighting them," she seethed, angry that he would think to do such a thing.

"There may not be any time, Arya."

"So, you just sacrifice yourself to the Night's King? You just give up?"

Jon sat up, reaching for her face. He held her face in his hand, rubbing her cheek softly. A tear slipped past his defenses and rolled down his cheek. She followed it until it disappeared beyond his chin.

"I have come up against the Night's King several times. I feel it is my destiny to meet him in battle."

"And leave me?" She said, her tears slipping down as well.

"That is not what I want, Arya. But, if it is true they are here our chances are not good. But, I want to give us a chance, though."

"And if I ask you to stay with me?" She challenged.

A ghost of a smile played upon his lips. He pulled her to him, touching her lips with his in a feather-like kiss. It was over before she could respond.

"Oh, that I wish I could," he whispered.

Jon laid back down, pulling Arya to him. She slammed her eyes closed, his words playing over and over. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as closely to him as was possible. Again, she laid her face in the crook of his neck, smelling him. Burning his smell into her memory. She burned the feel of his arms around her into her memory. Consumed by his touch, by his smell, Arya wept openly.

"Do you remember that time you threw a kidney pie in Sansa's face?" Jon asked, chuckling.

The memory came to her at once, causing her to laugh softly. "Mother was furious with me. I thought for sure I would receive a lashing for it."

"Those moments seem like a lifetime ago. I wanted so much to leave for the Wall and become something more than what I was. More than a bastard. Looking back, I see how stupid I was. We should have never left Winterfell."

"I miss them so much. Father, mother, Robb, Rickon. Do you think… do you think they would be proud?" Arya asked, quietly.

Jon squeezed her, kissing her forehead for several moments before answering. "Yes… yes, they would be proud, Arya."

Sometime, in the quiet of the night, Arya closed her eyes and finally allowed sleep to take her under. She dreamed of her father's face smiling down at her. She dreamed of her mother's loving eyes staring at her. She dreamed of Robb and Rickon watching her with smiles upon their faces. She dreamed of a world where no White Walkers existed. A place where she and Jon could lay in the sun and stare at the beauty around them together. It was a lovely dream, but as all dreams do it came to an end with the rising of the sun.

When Arya awoke she was alone in her room. She searched around her, but Jon was nowhere to be found. She felt the coldness seep into her bones, the loneliness choke her. Outside her window, the snow continued to fall. She got out of bed and dressed for the long ride to Winterfell. They would be home by nightfall.

Everyone drank their feel of mead and ate hot buttered bread, for none wanted to stop again. They were close, and the winds were blowing harder. The cold was bone chilling, the snow wet and heavy. Arya caught Jon's eyes for just a moment, his lips moving in a small smile. She returned it with a small smile of her own.

"How did you sleep?" Gendry asked, moving his horse in beside hers.

"As well as could be expected under the circumstances."

Arya thought about telling Gendry that Jon had stayed with her, but the look in his eyes told her he already knew. She was tired of seeing sadness in the two men's eyes. She was tired of it being her that put the sadness there. She reached out and took Gendry's hand in hers, squeezing. He looked confused, but his confusion turned to a smile upon his face.

The rest of the day they rode in mostly silence. Every so often someone would tell a story just to lighten the heavy mood. Arya watched Jon for most of the ride, but he never looked back at her. When Winterfell came into view Arya felt her heart swell with proud. The enormous castle of House Stark was glorious to all that beheld it. But, none more to the people who called it home.

"Open the gates! The King has returned! Open the gates!" the watchmen yelled to the people below.

A great sound came from before them as the large gates of Winterfell opened. Soldiers, men, women and children lined the way to welcome their king home. Sansa was there to greet them, hugging Jon when he descended from his horse.

"Hello, Sansa."

Arya watched her sister turn at the sound of her name being called. She watched her eyes grow wide, a look of surprise crossing her face.

"It is good to see you well," Tyrion said, smiling.

"Lord Tyrion…" Sansa started to say, but her words trailed off as her eyes found another familiar face. Sansa stared at the man walking towards her. Sandor Clegane stood before her, bowing his head.

"Sir Clegane," Sansa breathed.

Arya watched her sister look between both men, unsure of who to speak to first. She watched them until another caught her eye. Bran sat to the side, watching her. When their eyes met she smiled at her brother, but he did not return her smile. Instead he motioned for her to follow as he turned and disappeared towards the Godswood.

Arya got down from her horse and followed where her brother had gone. Behind her, she could hear the people celebrating the return of their king and moving about the castle to prepare for such a large envoy that Jon had brought back with him. There were plenty of places for everyone to stay, and more food and wine than was necessary.

Bran sat beside the Weirwood tree, the face of the tree looking out over the grounds of Winterfell. Her father's gods. Arya came to a stop beside her brother, sitting in the snow beside him. He stared at the face of the tree for a long while, not a word spoken. For a moment she wondered if she had mistook him wanting to speak to her.

"You finally realize you love them both," Bran said, his words catching Arya off guard. She stared at her brother in shock. He met her shocked stare with a knowing look. "Good. That is what needed to happen."

"It is not good, brother. I am destroying them both," Arya said, feeling the weight of her actions.

"You are fulfilling your destiny."

"What does that mean?" Arya asked, annoyed.

"You are now ready to hear the truth. You are now ready to hear the role you must play in the Long Night to come. You must never tell anyone of what you know. This is your burden to carry and yours alone. You are the two sides of the same coin, and only you can carry out what needs to be done. When the time comes… you will make the choice to save them all."

"How?" Arya breathed, her eyes growing wide.

Arya sat and listened to every word her brother had to say. Each word he spoke caused Arya to feel like daggers stabbing her in the chest. Each word caused her eyes to well up in tears. The cold of the snow seeped into her veins where she sat. The winds blew around her causing her to shiver, yet Bran kept talking. Words too much to understand. His words took away her breath, took away the very beat of her heart. When he was done a silence fell upon them. Arya could do nothing but stare at the face carved into the tree before her.

"Is there not another way?" She whispered, begging.

"There are several ways this could end, sister."

"Another way where we survive!" she said, angry.

Bran stared at her, not answering, which was answer enough for her. "This is the only way?"

"I am sorry, sister" Bran said, his words ringing true. She saw the sadness in his eyes, eyes that looked so much like her own.

She stood on shaking legs, her entire world suffocating her in that moment. The truth had been revealed to her. Her destiny revealed to her. She felt herself come undone. She turned and left her brother staring at the weirwood tree. When she reached the courtyard the sounds of cheers and celebration reached her ears. Everyone went about their night with smiles upon their faces. Arya saw Sansa walking around with Sandor, their mouths moving in conversation. She saw Gendry heading to the forge. The sight of him caused her heart to ache to the point that she grabbed her chest. It was not until she saw Jon that Arya knew she had to get away from the courtyard before anyone saw her.

She turned and went back towards the Godswood. Bran was no longer sitting before the weirwood tree. She began to walk fast, and before she knew it she was running deep into the Godswood. Angry tears streamed down her face the faster she ran. The faces of the trees followed her and she cursed them all. She cursed her father's gods as they watched her come apart. Finally, her legs gave out and she fell to the snowy ground. Her breathe came out in rough pants as she sobbed openly. Bran's words played upon her memory over and over again. The reminder of her role in the Long Night punched her in the gut until she could hardly breathe.

"History repeats its tragedy," she sobbed.

Arya raised her head towards the darkened sky and screamed.


	19. Chapter 19

One month passed. And then another. The cold grew thick and heavy in the air as the snow fell to the frozen ground. Clouds rolled in covering the sun for days at a time, until everyone got used to the greyness of the day. Plants and trees died, frozen in place like a memorial to their former lives. Everything but the weirwood trees. They may have bent under the strain of the new winter, but they did not break.

Slowly, people started to reach Winterfell. Jaime Lannister and Bronn, along with a few sellswords, showed up one cold morning to the surprise of everyone. His tale of Cersei lying and refusing Jon's request to join them in the fight did not surprise anyone. Even the talk of Euron Greyjoy and the Golden Company did not raise anyone's alarms. The fight was with the undead.

Next, came people from further north, their bodies shaking and almost frozen. Their eyes spoke of fear at what they had seen and heard. An army, they would scream. An army of undead. Some would die within hours of reaching Winterfell's doors due to the exposure of winter. Some would just stare at the fires and allow the heat to melt them. Their stories were all the same, though. The army of undead were coming.

It was the dead of night when Tormund and what was left of the Night's Watch arrived. They told their story of the undead army and watching a part of the wall come down. They were bleeding and bruised, barely making it out with their lives, but they had hidden from the army as they passed right through the hole they had made. The Night's King was in Westeros.

Arya listened as the others did, but she felt cold inside. Nothing Tormund said made her feel. On the outside one would think she felt uneasy about what she was hearing, but the truth of the matter was that she already knew. Jon and the others began to plan, their night of sleep forgotten. Gendry, with the help of Samwell Tarly, had been making swords and spears out of dragon glass. Their next project was to actually forge valyrian steel. Sam had found some old texts speaking of ways to forge new Valyrian steel with the help of dragon fire, and Gendry was their best blacksmith. He knew how to reforge the steel, but this was on another level. Their plan would start immediately.

Arya caught Gendry's eyes as he walked out of the great hall. He smiled at her, but when she tried to smile back it did not quite reach her eyes. He noticed and his smile fell. She had spent little time with him over the past few months. He was busy working in the forge and she could not bring herself to see him. It was better this way, she thought.

When Gendry disappeared out of the door her eyes moved to Jon. He was watching her, his face void of what he was thinking. She had avoided him as well. He had tried several times to find times she was alone to speak with her, but she would always avoid him. Again, what would it matter? Her heart ached when she stood to her feet and turned from him.

She walked out into the cold night, looking up into the blackened sky, void of all stars. She wrapped her thick wool robe around her body tighter as a shiver ran down her spine. Had she ever felt such a coldness in the air? No, she did not think she had. The sound of the hammer hitting the anvil filled the darkness around her.

"It is time, sister."

Arya closed her eyes at Bran's words. He sat behind her, yet she could not turn and face him. There was no reason to ask him of what he spoke of. It would be just wasting words to hear oneself talk. She knew exactly what he was saying. Her role in all of this had started.

"How long?" She asked, without turning around.

"Three days… a week at most," Bran answered. His voice sounded detached, as if they were just discussing the weather.

Arya nodded once and heard him roll away. It was time for her to prepare. It was time for a conversation she had dreaded since the moment Bran told her what would happen. She had spent months searching in her mind for the right person who would help her do what needed to be done. She had gone through everyone, everything that person would say. Would they be willing to help? Or would they tell Jon or Gendry? When it was all said and done there was only one person still standing in her mind. He would do it, no question, for she had prepared a little incentive.

She found him sitting in the great room listening to Jon map out the grounds of Winterfell and where there needed to be stronger reinforcements. They also were planning to get the women and children out of Winterfell to take them further south to safety. As she stood there listening it all felt surreal. The army of the undead was coming, there was no doubt about it, but for just a moment Arya felt as though it was all a dream. It could not possibly be happening. She was brought out of her thoughts when the person she came looking for spotted her. Arya motioned for him to follow her and walked out.

She did not turn to see if he was coming, for she was sure he would. Soon, she heard his footsteps behind her. She led him down the stairwell that headed into the crypts of Winterfell. She past her grandfather and uncle, their stone faces watching her as she passed. She passed her father and fought the urge to stop and look at his statue. There was a reason she came down into the crypts and she had to concentrate on her purpose. She passed her aunt Lyanna and brother Rickon until she found herself deep inside the crypts. When she got to where she was going she stopped and slowly turned to look behind her.

"Hello Sandor," Arya said. She had not spoken to him since he has arrived at Winterfell.

"I see you found your way home." He answered, his voice just as low and gruff as she remembered.

"I see you found yourself not dead."

Sandor chuckled at this, which surprised Arya. She thought he would be angry with her, which she was more than ready to make amends for. She needed him. "No, I am not dead… no thanks to you," he said, still chuckling.

"Would you like an apology? I am sorry, you know."

Sandor shook his head, a small smile on his face. "I don't need no damn apology. You did what you had to do. You didn't have to bring me in a damn crypt to apologize."

"That is not why we are here." Arya turned around and pointed to a long passageway behind her. "Down that passage you will come to a dead end. You can choose right or left. If you choose left it will take you down another long passageway until you will come upon the same choice… right or left. This time, if you take a right it will lead you all the way out to the Godswood and there you could escape unseen."

She turned back to face him. What little light they had from the candles flickered off his confused face. He stared passed her down the passageway, as if walking the steps she gave him in his mind.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

Arya took a deep breath. The moment of truth. She hoped she had not been wrong about choosing him. If he refused, or told Jon and Gendry, all hell would break loose.

"We have days before the army of the dead will be here. When they attack you know as well as I we will not survive. We cannot hold Winterfell. You have seen them. You know their numbers. By the time they make it here their numbers would have doubled. You are going to want to fight… but I am asking you to choose a different path."

Sandor's confusion grew as he placed his weight from one leg to another. He rubbed his face, looking around the crypts. "I don't understand," he finally said.

Arya turned and pointed down the passageway. "I showed you the way out of the crypts. I showed you the way out of Winterfell from here. When the army arrives there will be three horses waiting at the end of the crypts. You will take them and get as far away from this place as you can."

"Not gonna happen," Sandor said, turning to leave.

"If you love her you will do this," Arya said, stopping the man in his tracks. For a moment Sandor refused to turn around and meet Arya's gaze. She was playing her hand. Her incentive. "She is planning to stay. She will die if she does."

"I don't know who you're talking about," he said, low.

"Yes, you do. You protected Sansa at King's Landing years ago. I am asking you to do the same now. Take the horses and go to the Vale. There, you all will be safe, until this is all over… hopefully."

"They need me to fight," he said, angered. She saw the doubt in his eyes. He wanted to fight, but above anything he wanted to protect Sansa. The war raged within him, but his love for Sansa was strong.

"She will need you more. She will be the last Stark. Please, do this for me. For her," Arya whispered.

"Will she even go?" He asked.

Arya had thought about this. Sansa had changed over the years. Gone was the helpless maiden. In her place was a strong fighter. She would want to stand with her family for her home. She had stood up to Ramsey Bolton and won.

"She will choose duty and family above all else. The moment it is explained to her that it is on her shoulders to keep the Stark name going she will agree."

Sandor sighed, rubbing his face again. She could see him slowly relenting. Her plan was working. "Show me the way again," he said, quietly.

She took him all the way to the end of the crypts, showing him the way out. "Again, the horses will be here and you must not wait. Leave on them at once to the Vale. My cousin Robin will welcome you. Stay there until word reaches you that it is safe, or…" she trailed off. The alternative would be that all of this was in vain.

"You said three horses," Sandor said.

They had walked back towards her father's statue in silence before Sandor had asked Arya that question.

"Someone else will accompany you and Sansa to the Vale."

"Who?" he asked.

Arya stopped walking and turned to face him. "Gendry," she said, quietly. "I need you to take him out of Winterfell as well. I need you to get them both to safety."

"The boy won't go willingly."

"No, he will not. But, what he does not suspect he will not have to fight against, even if that means being unconscious. I know what I am asking of you. I know the repercussions you will have to deal with, but I am begging you to do this for me."

"I'm guessing no one else knows about this?" he asked.

Arya shook her head no. No one else knew what she had planned. There would be hell to pay from Gendry if he found out. "No one else can know."

For the longest time they stood in silence. The darkness around them was their only companion. Arya felt some of the weight upon her shoulders slide off. Sandor had not agreed to do what she had asked, but he had not told her no either. She gave him time to think about everything, standing beside him in the darkness. Their time together on the road came back to her. She had hated him at first, but there was no denying he has softened her heart against him. Sandor had taught her many lessons.

"I never thanked you for saving me that night," she said, low. There was no reason to explain what night she was talking about. Sandor would know. She had almost made it inside Walder Frey's castle, and if she would have she would be dead. Sandor had saved her that night and had taken her away. It was only months later that she realized he had protected her many times at the cost of his own life… almost. "And I am truly sorry for leaving you to die."

"I don't need any thanks. Sounds like a damn goodbye, and I already told you I don't need an apology. You did what you had to do to survive."

Arya smiled softly. His reaction was exactly how she pictured it to be. Sandor Clegane was not the mushy, feelings type. She could read underneath his words though. Sandor was proud of what he had done for her… and he was proud of her as well.

"Will you do what I asked?" Arya asked.

There was a long pause before he spoke. "Yes," he whispered. Arya closed her eyes, releasing the breath she had been holding. Gendry and Sansa would be safe. "You're planning on staying?" He asked.

"Yes," she answered, simply. Her destiny was here in Winterfell. There would be no horses waiting to take her to safety. That thought made her feel truly alone, more than she had ever felt before.

"I suppose you can hold your own now," he said.

"Yeah, I suppose I can," she answered, looking up at him.

"They'll be safe. You have my word." With that, Sandor walked from the crypts leaving Arya to stare at his retreating back.

Later, Arya climbed from the crypts back out into the cold night. The inhabitants of Winterfell had finally gone to sleep, leaving just the sound of the forge to greet her. She slowly made her way towards the large building and looked inside to see Gendry hard at work. He was alone. His back was turned to her as she watched him work. His muscles ripped and moved with every beat of the hammer and she was once again reminded of how strong he was. Gendry must have heard her approach, for the hammer stopped in midair as he turned to look at her.

"Hi," she greeted, softly.

Gendry lowered the hammer and stepped away from the anvil, grabbing his shirt and throwing it over his head. He walked slowly towards her until just a few inches separated them. She could feel his heat coming off of his body and it warmed her. His hand reached out and took her face gently. Without a word, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her softly. She welcomed his kiss, although it broke her heart. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed herself closer to him as he deepened the kiss. His hands were in her hair holding her head as if it were made of fine glass.

He moved back long enough to pick her up in his arms and walk out into the night. Tears stung Arya's eyes as she kissed his forehead, face and lips. Their days were numbered, and the urgency between them was like a fire being doused with fuel. Arya had secured Gendry's safety without his knowledge.

He brought her into his room and laid her down on his bed, looking down at her for several moments. She could see the worry in his eyes, could see the fear. She wanted to take away all of it, but there was no way to do that. The truth was, she may not have saved him no matter how far Sandor took him. If the undead army could not be stopped everything was in vain.

'The army will be stopped because of you,' a voice in her head whispered.

Arya slammed her eyes closed and pulled Gendry down on top of her to drown out her thoughts. They made love, until both were exhausted. She laid against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. She hoped that sound would continue long passed this night.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked her.

"I never want to get out of this bed," she answered, sleepy.

She heard the low rumble of laughter in his chest, which made her smile

"Then, let us st…"

Gendry never finished his sentence. Somewhere in the night, high above Winterfell's walls, came the loud shriek of a horn. For a moment, Arya and Gendry were frozen, their eyes staring wide at one another. At the same time they jumped from bed and threw their clothes on as fast as possible.

Gendry led the way from the room with Arya right on his heels. They ran into several people heading all in the same direction. High they climbed up, until the land behind Winterfell's walls were visible. The entire time Arya screamed to herself that it was too soon. The army of undead could not be there.

She saw Jon staring out into the darkness and made her way towards him as Gendry went the opposite way. Jon looked over at her for a moment as she stood at his side. When she looked out before them her breath caught in her throat. A massive army covered as far as the eye could see, their eyes trained on Winterfell's walls.

Arya stepped closer to the wall, her eyes adjusting to the light, and what she saw caught her off guard. "Jon?" she whispered, wondering if he saw what she did.

"The army is human," he said, answering her question.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Hello lovely people. I know. I know it's taken forever for me to update! I am so sorry. But, here I am! I have three months to finish this story before the new season. So, let's do this... I hope to update more frequently until it's done! On with the show...**

"Have the gates been reinforced?" Jon yelled beside Arya, yet his voice sounded far away.

The sun had risen hours ago, yet the night sky had been ablaze for hours. The large army of men had come upon Winterfell and had not wasted any time with their assaults. They had caught everyone by surprise, and by the time their presence was known it was too late. Even now, Arya could hear the sound of a cannon loosening it's assault upon the walls of Winterfell. Her home shook with its power, yet it did not fall.

"They have, your grace. The walls are holding steady, no real damage to report just yet," a man answered, the direwolf sigil upon his breastplate.

As the sun rose, their assailants had come into the light. Upon their banners waved the golden lion of House Lannister. Cersie had sent her army at last, yet she had something completely different in mind other than helping the cause against the army of the dead. Jon nodded his head, dismissing his soldier. All eyes in the room were upon him, yet he stared at the table before him. Arya could see the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

"Jon, they are here to destroy us. My dragons could end this quickly," Daenerys said, angered.

Everyone in the room flinched at the thought of the dragons. Daenerys was right. Her two dragons could put a quick end to the army knocking at Winterfell's gates, yet Jon had hesitated all night. Every time the subject came up he would change it in a hurry, as if the dragon queen had not said a word. Arya wondered why she allowed this.

"We are safe behind Winterfell's walls for now," he would say, more to himself than anyone. "Have the women and children been moved to a safe place?"

"Yes, your grace. They are waiting inside the crypts," Varys answered.

Arya watched as Daenerys walked up to Jon, demanding he look her in the eyes. Hesitantly, Jon raised his dark eyes to look upon his queen. "Let us be done with this. The real threat is yet to come. Let me take the dragons before this army. We will send word first and allow them to change their minds and leave… or even join us."

"And what if they do not?" Jon asked, softly. His question hung in the air. Everyone present knew it's answer. They would burn. "A graveyard before Winterfell's gates, Dany. A graveyard the Night King will reawaken into his already large army. Killing them will not save us. Killing them will only help the army of the dead."

"Show them the dragons. Tell them to leave with their lives at least," Tyrion added.

"They've seen them," Jamie said. Arya looked over at the man sitting beside the fireplace. His eyes stared into the fire, lost in his own thoughts. He looked older than his young years, so much older than the first time she had ever seen him right here in Winterfell. Flames danced off of his golden hand. "They follow their queen's orders. They will not surrender." Arya watched a pang of sadness cross his handsome features.

Jamie stood to his feet, grabbing his belt and sword and sliding it on. Everyone watched him in silence, wondering what he was about to do. Tyrion slowly stood, his face drawing up in concern. "Brother, do not be so foolish," he said, harshly.

"Those are still my men out there," Jamie said, fastening his blade to his side. "I have seen what those dragons can do up close and personal. Unless it is against those dead things I do not want to see what those dragons can do again. I will go to the Lannister army and warn them what will befall them if they do not leave this place. At least give me a chance to save them this time," he asked, his eyes burning into Daenerys.

"Go," Jon said, not giving anyone else enough time to answer. "Ask them to join us. Let them know dragons are not their only enemy."

Jamie nodded his head, giving his brother one last look, before leaving the room without another word. The room grew silent as everyone got lost in their own thoughts. Arya looked to Jon, seeing how tired he looked. None of them slept the night before and it was beginning to show. She wanted to tell him to get some rest, but she knew it would fall on deaf ears.

"Am I not your queen?" Daenerys seethed.

"You are," Jon answered.

"Yet, you just treated me as common goods!"

"When this war is over punish me if you must. But, if there is even a small chance our numbers could grow that is a chance I'm willing to take."

Jon and Daenerys stared at one another as all watched them. Arya felt the tension in the air so thick she could have sworn she could cut it with Needle. Her hand itched to unleash the blade and protect Jon, but with a small sigh and nod from Daenerys head she realized that was not needed. Jon had overruled his queen, but his words held weight and Daenerys knew this.

"We have nothing to do now but to wait," Tyrion said, walking over to the pitcher of wine and pouring himself a glass. Arya watched how his hand shook with the effort, how his forehead scrunched up as he stared at the glass. He was worried. Worried for his brother. Would the Lannister army kill Jamie before he was able to speak with their captain? Would they dare harm Tywin Lannister's heir? For their own good she hoped they listened. Death was closer to them than they actually knew. Death was close to them all.

Arya caught Jon's tired eyes and he tried to smile, yet the smile did not reach his entire face. She wanted to comfort him, but there was no comfort to be had. One by one, people started to leave the room until it was just Sansa, Jon and Arya left. Sansa sat in the chair beside the fire left open by Jamie's exit. The flames popped and sizzled as her sister watched them. Arya was not sure how long the silence reigned outside where there had been yelling and explosions. The sounds had ended as suddenly as they began. Jamie had made his way out of Winterfell's walls to save his army.

"Sansa, I need to ask you to do something for me," Jon said, low. Sansa looked up at her brother at the same time as Arya. "The women and children need to be taken away from Winterfell to safety. If Jamie succeeds then under the guise of night we will transport the women and children to the Vale. There is nowhere that is safe, really, but I must give them a fighting chance. I must ask that you head this escape. Out of all of us you are familiar with the area. You, along with a few Knights of the Vale, will lead them to the Eyrie."

"You, Arya and Bran will remain?" she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. She knew what Jon was asking of her. Sansa would flee further south, away from the danger, while her family remained behind.

"I have asked Bran to leave, but he refuses. He says his place is here."

Jon turned to look at Arya, staring at her for several long seconds. She saw the plea in his eyes, even if it had not reached his tongue yet. He wanted her to go with Sansa, wanted her to be far from Winterfell. In that moment, she was surprised that she wished she could give him what he wanted. She would do anything to take that look from his eyes, but she knew, like Bran, her place was here. Her fate weighed down her tenfold under Jon's stare.

"I cannot," she whispered.

"I stay with my family," Sansa said, defiant.

Arya thought of Sandor, of the promise he made to her. Sansa would leave this place, whether by her own strength or someone else's, she had made sure of that. Arya looked at her sister, at the strong woman she had become, and it hit her that this could be the last time all three of them were together. Forever torn apart. Forever separated.

She stood to her feet and walked towards her sister, who watched her with unsure eyes. Arya knelt before Sansa, wrapping her arms around her sister. She had wasted so many years being angry at her. She had wasted so many years being jealous that everyone wanted her to be like Sansa. How foolish and childish she had been. Being faced with one's mortality puts everything into prospective.

Arya felt strong arms come around her, hugging her. Jon had joined them. She thought about Bran, about how he should be here with them on what feels like their last day together. Perhaps in his own way he was. She thought of their parents. She thought of Rob and Rickon. They had all lost so much, yet more was still asked of them.

A while later Sansa had gathered herself like the graceful lady she was and had left the room without another word. Arya had taken her seat beside the fire with Jon kneeling beside her. Somewhere in their silence together his hand had found her own. She held it with all the strength she could muster. Jon leaned forward and laid his head in her lap, taking a long breath. Arya closed her eyes, touching his head lightly.

"I will beg you if that is what it takes for you to leave. I will swear on the old gods and the new never to bother you again if that is what it takes. I will swear to honor you and Gendry if you will promise me that you will choose to leave and be safe," he whispered.

"I cannot do that," Arya answered.

Jon slowly raised his head and stared into her eyes. Pain and fear greeted her with every second that passed. She wanted to take that look away, to never see it again. "What are you not telling me?" he asked, surprising her.

"Only that my place is here… with you," she said, not missing a beat.

His hand moved to her face, gently touching her cheek with feather-like caresses. "I have always wanted your place to be at my side, but in this moment I would give my wants up just to keep you safe."

Arya moved into his touches, closing her eyes. Why did his touch feel so right? It felt as right as Gendry's touch felt. She loved them both, that she could not deny. When she opened her eyes his face was inches from her own. She was not sure if it was knowing her fate, or the ache to feel something other than hollow, that made her move to cut the few inches between them.

Her lips gently touched his own, a phantom kiss, yet it melted her fears in that moment. Jon froze, caught off guard by Arya's bold move, but it took him only a moment to catch up. His arms slid around her, bringing her gently towards him. Arya felt his scent engulf her, felt his touch from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. Gone, was the fear. Gone, was the paralysis of her fate. All that mattered was his touch. All that mattered was his scent. This kiss was different. This kiss was not forced, was not shoved on her. This kiss was cherished, beautiful. She poured herself into it, poured her love into the kiss for Jon to take within him and hold on to.

Nothing mattered in those few seconds alone with Jon before a warm fire. In that moment they were the only two in her world. There was no Night King. There was no Daenerys. There was no vision that Bran had seen. There was not even Gendry. All she knew and felt was Jon. She envisioned a world that would allow them to be together, allowed them to live this perfect moment on and on until they were no more. She envisioned a world where death and fate did not tear them apart. And in the few seconds they had left in that perfect moment she realized she had made her choice. She had always known her choice, but had never had the courage to say it out loud, because she loved both Jon and Gendry.

Jon pulled away first. When Arya came back to reality she noticed tears in his eyes. He looked like a man torn apart. "Jon?" she said, softly questioning.

He shook his head, getting to his feet and moving away from her. For a few moments he kept his back towards her, his body slightly shaking. "I have wanted you to kiss me like that for a long time now. I only wish we had more time," he said, quietly.

"Was it a mistake?' she asked, like a child.

He slowly turned to her, a tear escaping down his face. He forced a smile, yet it never reached his eyes. "I can lie to everyone here, but not to you. Arya, we will not survive the Night King. I have seen what he can do, and now he has a dragon. Everything we do now is in vain. Even with dragonglass in every man's hand he outnumbers us ten-to-one. Every one of us that falls only adds to his numbers. I cannot protect these people. I cannot protect you. For one selfish moment I thought about taking you far away from here and running… just you and me."

He was barely able to get the words out of his trembling lips. He truly was a man with the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He looked ashamed of what he just admitted.

"For a moment I would have gone with you," she whispered. She knew by the look in his eyes he could read between her words at what she was really saying.

"That is all I needed to hear," he whispered back.

"Your grace, Jamie Lannister has gained an audience with the captain of the Lannister army," said a soldier coming into the room.

"I am on my way," Jon told the man.

The man left leaving Jon and Arya staring at one another. Their moment had passed, slithered away like a feather in the breeze. There would be no choice to make between the men she loved. His idea of them running away to safety was nice little story to tell bright eyed children. There would be no escape, no happily ever after. She never believed in those anyway. This moment only solidified the fact she had been right in not believing them.

"Will you spend some time with me tonight? Even if it is just a few hours?" Jon asked, interrupting her inner dialogue.

"Yes," she said, no hesitation.

He left her beside the fire without another word. She stared at the doorway that he disappeared behind finally allowing her tears to appear. There never was a choice, not really. She felt foolish for even allowing herself to think that way. Jon had made her forget, even for just a moment, that there was no hope. The fire crackled behind her as Bran's words floated to her mind.

"You are two sides of the same coin. Your love for Gendry brought him all the way here to do the job he was always meant to do. Your love for Jon will give him the strength he needs to defeat the Night King. Your love will win this war," he had said.

"And me? What is my role in all of this?" she had asked.

"Your role?" he had asked her, his face falling in sadness. For just a split second she had seen her brother staring back at her. She had seen Bran before her, but he disappeared just as quickly as he came. She was staring at the Three Eyed Raven again. "The Night King will take Winterfell. When he does, you will be here waiting for him. You alone. He needs a Stark. He needs you. You… you will be asked to sacrifice yourself for this war. And you will say yes."

Arya closed her eyes against the memory of her brother's words. He had seen the end. Her end. It did not matter if Jamie succeeded. It did not matter if the Lannister Army tried to rip away every stone that stood between them and the people inside Winterfell. It would not kill her. Cold and death awaited her. Eyes of blue and a touch like ice made her shiver. The Night King needed a Stark… needed her.

Arya Stark would die at the hands of the Night King. She would do this to save the ones she loved. She would do this to save the two men she had chosen equally.

She bowed her head and allowed herself to cry.


	21. Chapter 21

The tears had long dried, but Arya remained beside the fire. The flames danced inside her dark eyes as she stared at the red and orange colors. She did not notice someone enter the room, not until they slid the glass full of wine on the table beside her. Only then did she turn her head to inspect her company.

To her surprise Tyrion stood before, his own glass of wine in his hand. He swirled it around, the contents inside threatening to spill over. He took the seat across from her, his small body bouncing until he found a comfortable spot to sit.

"I don't drink," she said, short.

Tyrion looked from his glass to her own untouched wine. He raised his glass in the air, as if to salute her. "Now is the best time to start," he responded, taking a large gulp.

She watched him take two big gulps before coming up for air. She remembered the first day she had seen him at Winterfell all those years ago. She had been in awe of the "imp". She was less than impressed watching him now. He had his scars, that was for sure. She wondered what had led him to turn his back on his bitch of a sister and join Daenerys. At least she respected him for that.

"No word from Jamie?" Arya asked.

Tyrion took another long drink, shaking his head slightly. Jamie had not returned. Arya saw the worry, even if Tyrion was hiding behind his cup. "If you do not mind, I would rather have my mind taken off the situation. Perhaps, you can tell me how in the world a small girl such as yourself ever got the better of my sister?"

Arya watched a small smile dance upon his lips and she joined in with one of her own. Tyrion was referring to her escape from Winterfell all those years ago. It seemed like another lifetime. She had had help escaping. And she had had Gendry. Arya eyed her cup of wine. She wanted to drown the entire bit of wine and forget.

"No one was looking for a stupid boy," she responded, quietly.

"Smart," Tyrion said, impressed.

"Did you really kill your father?" Arya asked, catching him off guard. Tyrion raised his glass to his lips as she asked him, stumbling at the mention of his father.

"That, I did," he said. No emotion.

"I knew him. We were taken to Harrenhal and I became his cupbearer."

"My apologies. That couldn't have been a good time," Tyrion said, raising his glass again.

"Actually, I came to respect him. I learned a lot from watching him. I went from wanting to kill him to listening to him."

"The man never lacked wisdom, that is for certain. So, he had Robb Stark's sister under his nose the entire time and never knew it?" Tyrion started to laugh. It grew quietly at first, but soon grew until the man had tears rolling down his face. "You were better than I thought."

Arya inclined her head in appreciation of his compliment. "Not every day someone fools both Cersei and Tywin?" She asked.

"I would say you're smart enough to end this entire war," he said, laughing.

The smile dropped from Arya's face. She looked away from Tyrion back towards the dying fire. The mood around them soured.

"Drink. It is rude to make me drink alone," he said, trying to lighten the mood again.

Arya reached a cold hand out and grabbed the cup. She raised it, feeling the weight of the wine, and brought it to her lips. "To death," she whispered. Tyrion nodded his head as Arya took a long gulp. The sour liquid burned as it went passed her throat to her belly, yet she liked the warmth it brought.

"I am okay to die, just between you and me. However, I do not want to become one of those things. Death seems much more suitable."

"Are you a religious man?" Arya asked.

He looked at her over the rim of his cup as she took another long gulp. "I am many things, Arya Stark, but I have never been called religious. There is nothing waiting on the other side for someone like me… a monster."

"I guess we have that in common," Arya said.

The wine caused her pulse to quicken and the feel of the fire to intensify. She thought back on all of the things she had done, all the lives she had taken. There were many faces crossing her mind. There would be nothing waiting for her on the other side, nothing good anyway.

"So, let us hope we survive this war and live many more years. I rather like living," Tyrion said, chuckling. Arya drank to his toast, but she knew she did not have many years left. Days at the most is what awaited her.

Silence fell upon them again, both pairs of eyes staring into the fire. Arya sat her cup of wine down as her stomach began to feel queasy. She wondered why anyone would drink the stuff more than once. It made her feel strange.

"I was told you have spent time in Braavos. Is that true? Your time was spent with the Faceless Men?"

Arya nodded her head. The Waif's face floated to her memory. The girl had tried to kill her, but in the end it had been Arya doing the killing. Did she feel bad now? No, she did not. It had been the last straw ending her time in Braavos. Her home was calling to her. Jon was calling to her.

"What made you leave them?" Tyrion asked.

Arya stared into the mismatched eyes of Tyrion Lannister. Not for the first time since their conversation started did she think how odd it was to be sitting here with him, as if two old friends were chatting to catch up.

"I chose Arya Stark," she answered, her words having only a meaning she understood.

"Good. Jon will need you. Far more than he will need anyone else… including the Dragon Queen."

Arya raised her eyebrows in surprise at the undertone of jealousy she heard in the imp's voice. Even the way he took a drink of his wine spoke more than the words he refuse to say ever could have. Tyrion Lannister was jealous of Jon And Daenerys' close relationship.

"Meaning?" She persisted when he refuse to say anything else.

"Meaning nothing." He shrugged his shoulders, looking away from Arya when her gaze became too heavy for him to bear.

"You love her…." it was not a question. Arya knew that look well. She had seen the same look upon her reflection when she thought of Jon and Daenerys.

"As much as you love him," Tyrion said, knowingly.

Arya knew who "him" was and did not need to ask. Had it been that obvious that everyone knew? Gendry had been the only other person to ever speak the words approaching the subject of her and Jon. And now Tyrion. He knew. It was as clear on his face as his own words just spoke.

She picked up her wine glass and saluted him this time. "My apologies to you then," she said, finishing off the wine.

"And to you," he responded, joining Arya in finishing his wine.

For a long time afterwards they sat in silence. Both of them weighed through their own thoughts of the two people they had fallen in love with and the impossibility of a happy ending. Arya was not even aware when Tyrion had left her. When she looked over to where he had sat, the seat was empty.

By the time Arya rose to her feet to leave, the fire had turned to embers. Darkness crept into the room making her surroundings look strange. She knew the way out without needing light.

When she made it outside the snow was coming down harder than ever. The grounds of Winterfell, and all that surrounded it, became of blanket of white. Still, there was no word of Jamie Lannister. He could be dead for all they knew.

Arya walked towards the forge, and as she got closer she could hear Gendry working. He stopped only to eat and sleep, otherwise his work called him all hours of the day and night. They were running out of time and needed as many dragonglass swords and spears as possible.

When he saw her he immediately stopped hammering and walked towards her. Gently, he kissed her lips and hugged her to him. "Any word?" He whispered.

Arya held him tightly, feeling as if she did not deserve him. "No, Jamie is not back yet," she answered.

Gendry took a deep breath, tightening his hold. "No news can be good news," he whispered.

Arya nodded against his chest and they fell into silent contentment. She hated what she was about to do, the look she was about to see upon his face, but she had decided she would not lie to him. Arya wanted to spend some time with Jon. Just her and him. When the war was done she would be gone. There was no choosing Gendry or Jon, yet she could not tell him this. She wanted what little time she had with both of them.

"I am retiring to my room for a while until Jamie comes back… if he comes back. I wanted to come and bid you a goodnight," Arya said, softly.

"I can join you until you fall asleep," Gendry responded.

Arya slammed her eyes closed, self hatred swimming within her. "I want to spend some time with Jon. What little time we all have is fleeting and you know what he means to me," she whispered.

She felt Gendry grow rigid and stiff. His strong arms fell to his side and he abruptly walked away from her. She saw the tension in his shoulders, saw the anger in his walk. She sighed in defeat.

"Gendry," she tried to call, but he cut her off.

"Just go!"

Arya sighed, closing her eyes. When she opened them she met his blue eyes. There was hurt and anger staring back at her. For just a moment she thought about telling him everything. She thought about telling him what Bran had told her, about how she would have to sacrifice herself to the Night King.

Instead, she said, "Do not hate me," she whispered, begged.

Gendry's body fell in defeat. He shook his head, the pain in his eyes winning out over the anger. "I could never hate you, Arya. Not you. We do not have time for such childish behavior. I know that you love me. I know that you love him. Come the morning we may not be alive. I get it. Does not mean I have to like it, but I get it. Go, spend time with Jon, and when you are done I will be waiting."

She could hear the hurt under his words and it gutted her. Arya nodded her head, grateful to hear he did not hate her. Again, just for a fleeting moment, she thought about telling him the truth, but she knew if she did he would give his life to protect her. She would choose her life over his every time. She had secured his escape with Sandor. He would go on living, and that thought gave her the courage to turn away from him and walk out of the forge. The sound of the anvil hitting steel followed her all the way to her quarters.

Arya walked into her room and saw Jon waiting for her. He sat on her bed, his head bent forward as his elbows rested on his legs. She watched him for a moment, watched the tension coil in his shoulders as he breathed. Something was very wrong.

"Jon?" She called to him.

Slowly, he looked up to look at her. Tears swam in his dark eyes as his lips trembled. Everything was forgotten as she hurried to him and knelt before him taking his hand in hers.

"Is it Jamie? Did he fail?" She asked, quickly. He shook his head no, his eyes wild and wide. "What is it. You're scaring me," she whispered.

"I—I… Bran and I. He told me." Jon stuttered to get the words out, but at the mention of Bran Arya froze. What had he told Jon? Had he told him the truth of what would happen to her? "He showed me. Aunt Lyanna."

"Aunt Lyanna? Jon you are making no sense," Arya said, softly.

Whatever had happened still held Jon captive. His eyes were unfocused, his trembling mouth sitting open. Arya gently raised his face so she could see his eyes. It took a moment, but he finally focused on her. "What happened?" She asked.

He whispered five words to her, words that rocked the very foundation that she stood upon and forced more questions than answers.

"I am not your brother."

For several moments she did not speak, allowing the words to settle in her mind even as they made no sense. Jon was her brother. Ned Stark's blood ran through his veins.

"Jon," Arya begin to argue.

"My mother was Lyanna Stark. He made me his bastard to protect me," he interrupted.

Arya felt the air in the room shift, felt the breath in her lungs grow solid and refuse to leave her mouth. What?!

"I—I do not understand," Arya said, her heart hammering against her chest.

For the next hour Jon told her everything he had seen and heard. He had finally gone to talk to Bran and found his friend Sam waiting for him as well. Together, Bran and Sam told Jon the story of his parentage. Not only that, Bran had been able to show Jon the truth. There was no way to deny it, no way to call it a fairytale. It was real. Jon Snow was the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.

"Rhaegar did not kidnap Lyanna? She went willingly? Everything was a lie," Arya breathed, unable to wrap her head around it.

"Father brought me back and claimed me as his own to protect me. He was never my father. He did this at the detriment of his marriage… of his honor," Jon said, his face crumbling. Arya watched him bow his head, watched him lay his hands in his face.

Arya had no idea how to help him. She had no idea how to stop him from shaking. If the truth about Jon was too much to take for her she could not imagine what Jon was going through. Why would Bran tell him such a truth now? There was an army outside of their gates. There was a bigger army coming. If they lost the focus of Jon they were all doomed. Arya grabbed his shoulders forcing my to look up at her. She saw that she only had a small window to bring him back before he drowned in the truth.

"You are Ned Stark's blood. That is all you need to concern yourself with at the moment. When this war is over then you can reflect on who gave birth to you. Until then, you will remember who spent eighteen years raising you as his own. Jon, we are in the middle of the war for our lives. If our men see our leader falter we are as good as dead. If the Northmen realize they gave the North to a true born Targaryen we will not have to wait for the army of the dead to get here. There will be an explosion within. You must not tell a soul. You put this behind you for another day."

"How?" He asked, childlike.

"By remembering who you are, not where you came from. You are Jon Snow of Winterfell. You were Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The King in the North."

Jon leaned forward, resting his forehead upon Arya's. He sighed, his breath giving feather-like kisses to Arya's cheeks. With one nod she realized she had gotten to him. She had talked some sense into him. He wrapped his arms around her again and brought her to his chest. His heart hammered against her ears.

He slowly raised his head, his face inches from her own. Immediately, she was lost within his dark eyes. His eyes became clear and strong. Jon was coming back to her. His hands reached for her face and held her lightly. Warmth spread throughout her body, melting her freezing blood.

"Stay with me the whole night," he whispered, taking her lips with his own.

Arya breathed him in, his scent. She locked it within the memory of her mind. She memorized his touch, the way each part of her skin awoke to his touch. It made her feel… alive. He kissed away her tears, tears she had not known she was crying until she felt them wet his lips. The only sounds in the room around them were the two beating hearts between them.

Arya gave him all he wanted, everything he asked for. She gave him warmth. She gave him strength. She brought him back from the cusp of chaos to the light once more with each touch and kiss she gave him. Her fingers traced each scar upon his face followed by her lips. She heard him sigh and smiled against his skin. He allowed her to touch and kiss other scars. Arya wished she had the power to heal them and make them go away forever. When she gave up power to Jon, Arya forgot all else going on around them.

Hours later she lay facing him. Skin against skin, she watched him sleep. His lips were slightly parted as his breath blew gently from his body. His arms were tightly around, and even if she wanted to get out of the bed, he had her trapped to him. She did not mind.

"Jon," she whispered, yet he did not wake.

She gently pushed a piece of hair from his face. Jon was not her brother. He was her cousin. Would that have changed anything if there had been no war to fight? Would that have made it easier for them to be together and be accepted? Rhaegar Targaryen was Jon's true father. It was the Targaryen custom to marry their kin… no, to marry their kin Targaryen. Jon would marry Daenerys not her. At the thought of the Dragon Queen she realized Jon and Daenerys were related. Aunt and nephew. Everything just became a little more messed up with the truth of who Jon Snow really was.

The men of the North were proud men. They made Jon their king under the guise that he was Eddard Stark's son. What would they do if they found out he was Lyanna and Rhaegar' son? It would not be good, she knew that much. Did they even have time to deal with the truth getting out? Arya realized it was no use worrying about such things. Bran had warned her the time was drawing near. This war would be over soon. The Night King's blue eyes were the last thing Arya saw behind her closed eyelids as she gave way to sleep.

"Your Grace, come quickly!"

Arya and Jon were awoken to the sound of hurried knocks upon the door. Arya scrambled from the bed and threw the sheets around her. She hurried to the corner so she would not be seen as Jon slipped his pants on. He rushed to the door and opened it just enough for their visitor to see only him.

"What is it?" He asked roughly,

"Your grace, Jamie is back… and he is not alone," the man said.

Arya noticed the light coming through the windows. It was morning. She had spent the entire night with Jon.

"I will be there in a few moment," Jon said, bidding the man to leave.

When the door closed Jon looked upon the wood for a few minutes. Arya watched him not wanting to interrupt his thoughts. Jamie has returned alive and he was not alone. Was that a good thing?

"Arya…."

They moved at once, crashing into one another. Their arms went around the other, their hold desperate. Their time together had come and gone, and Arya knew this was their last moments alone together. In a way, she felt Jon knew it too.

She begged him to let go first, for she feared she did not have the strength to do it herself. His hand held the back of her head gently, and if it were not for his body she would not have the strength to stand. How was she to say goodbye to him? How was she to move from his arms knowing it would be the last time he held her?

"I do not know if I will have another moment like this to tell you what I feel. Arya, I love you. I always have. And no matter what my fate is I will always love you. Never doubt that. Never forget that. My heart is and will always be yours," he whispered in her ear.

With those words still ringing in her ear he slowly moved away from her and finished getting ready. She watched him in silence, watched the strength come back to him and turn him into the King in the North. He left her standing there watching him as he walked out of the room.

"I love you too," she whispered to the empty room.


	22. Chapter 22

Arya took her time getting ready. Her eyes stared at the dark stone of Winterfell's walls. Her mind was a storm of thoughts fighting each other for power over her mind. The chill inside the room with Jon's parting caused her body to shiver. She had given herself to Jon as she had given herself to Gendry. Her eyes closed, a long breath leaving her body.

She left her quarters and walked slowly through the hallways of her home. The lights upon the walls danced at her back as she passed. Time seemed to stand still, the seconds slowing until they all but stopped. Her days were numbered.

She reached the Great Hall and heard voices floating towards her. She entered without drawing attention and listened to the conversation in the back of the room.

"I understand your stance, General. You are following the orders of your queen, but she is going to get you and your men killed," Jon said through clenched teeth.

"That may be, but I must still bring you and the Targaryen usurper back to King's Landing. For the respect I hold for Ser Jamie I have come to ask you to go in peace. There is no reason for anyone to lose their life. Choose wisely, bastard," the man said.

"Donald, you and I share a long history. Listen to me, please. It may already be too late. Cersei has sent you and your men on a mission you cannot hope to win. I do not know why she did this, but you have already lost."

Jamie's voice was that of a whisper, but Arya and everyone heard every word clearly. The man named Donald stared, eyes widened, at Jamie. His mouth opened several times, but the words escaped him.

"You were there that day in the dragon pit. You know what is coming for us all. She sent you closer to the real threat. To the real army that means to do you harm."

"Yes, I remember what I saw… sorcery," the man spat.

"It was no sorcery. The army of the dead are real and they draw closer with every breath we take. Join us! Help us defeat them," Jon jumped in.

"A trick," the man responded, yet Arya saw doubt creep into his mind.

"No, my friend. I wish this was a trick. Please…" Jamie pleaded, his arm stretched out for the man to take. Donald stared at Jamie's hand for a few seconds, his resolve shaken, but Arya saw the look in his eyes flame red hot. She saw his resolve grow like wildfire.

"You have two days to get your women and children out of Winterfell before we attack. For the love I bear thee, that is what I am willing to give you, Ser Jamie," the man said, low.

He did not wait on a reply, but stormed from the room with his two soldiers. Everyone watched him go, the air in the room thickening.

"Well, what do we do about that?" Tyrion spoke first, grabbing a pitcher of wine and pouring him a large portion.

"We do nothing. Our only thought should be on the army of the dead," Jon answered.

"From where I stand the large Lannister army is more of a threat."

"From where I stand we stick to the plan," Jon answered, his dark eyes staring daggers at Tyrion.

"Of course, your grace. And while we stick to this plan of yours the Night King just gained five thousand soldiers."

"What do you expect me to do? Open the gates and give them Winterfell?" Jon huffed.

Tyrion climbed upon a seat, taking a long swing of his wine glass. "Give them Winterfell? No. Open the gates? Absolutely. Let them in? You bet."

"And how does that help us, brother?" Jamie asked.

Tyrion smiled, as if there was anything to smile about, but the imp was doing just that. She could see a gleam in his eyes. He had something flowing around in that brain of his.

"He's giving us two days before they march on Winterfell. We will not give them a reason to fire one shot at us. On the morning of the second day we will simply open the gates of Winterfell and let them in. That way, when the army of the dead comes they will all be safely behind Winterfell's walls. They will have two choices… fight us or fight the real enemy. By that time, they will be trapped inside with us. A man will fight for his life. They will have no choice but to join us, five thousand strong."

No one spoke for what felt like hours. Arya replayed Tyrion's plan in her mind. Although, there were some holes and "what if's" it was the best plan they had. If it worked it would give them five thousand more men. She did not think that was enough, but it was better for the army to be on their side than the Night King's.

"What happens if the army of the dead make it here before the second day?" Arya asked.

All eyes turned to her, as if noticing her for the first time. Jon took a step towards her, their eyes meeting, but he caught himself and stayed where he was.

"Well, they will not be a problem anymore," Tyrion said, chuckling. Jamie rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"We open the doors now."

Everyone turned to the owner of the voice that softly spoke. He paid no one any attention as his eyes gazed into the fire. A fur blanket sat upon his broken lap. Arya noticed her brother needed a haircut. She would cut Bran's hair if he let her, but when his eyes slowly moved from the fire to hers she knew there would be no time for haircuts or anything else.

 _It's time._ His voice seemed to float above the heads of everyone in the room and land dead in her chest. _Now or never, Arya._

She swallowed the large lump that formed in her throat. Her mind immediately went to her sister… and to Gendry. The time had come for her to get them to safety. She blinked away the tears, blinked away the guilt and pain. Bran softly nodded his head for only her to see. They would not make it to the second day. Their moments were slipping further away.

Arya slipped out of the room as questions were thrown at Bran and what he meant. Her footsteps echoed too loudly in her ears, her chest begging for a breath that refused to come. Sandor. She needed Sandor Clegane. He had not been in the meeting. There was only one place he could be.

She found him leaning against the outer wall that faced the entrance to the Godswood. Like a protective statue, he waited for Sansa's return from visiting their father's gods. The snow fell from the sky in thick waves choking her as she made her way towards Sandor.

He must have heard her approach, for he slowly turned and watched her walk towards him. Arya could not meet his eyes. The moment she did she knew there was no stopping what would happen. She wanted just one moment to pretend she could walk right past him and not stop. She wanted to pretend that the sound of the hammer hitting the anvil would go on and on.

Those wishes were for another time when death was not coming for them. Instead of rushing towards the forge, Arya raised her head and met Sandor's eyes. No words were spoken, for there was no need for words. Sandor knew the moment they looked at each other what was to take place.

Arya slowed her walk, stopping just short of Sandor. Their icy breaths mingled before them, their shoulders sagging in the cold. A tear escaped her eyes before she could control her emotions. Sandor watched it run down her cheek before capturing her eyes again.

"Do not cry," he said, hushed. "They will live another day. If you're going to cry do it for yourself."

He pushed himself from the wall, stealing one last glance at the path to the Godswood before walking away. She did not need to ask him where he was going. Sandor would not let her down.

Arya brushes the tear away just as Sansa appeared. Her sister did not notice her there, for she was trapped in her own thoughts. Arya was proud of the woman her sister had become. Long had she only seen her as a lovesick child with puppy dog eyes. That child had died long ago only to be replaced by steel.

"Arya?" Sansa said, finally seeing her standing there.

Arya allowed Sansa to walk towards her. Before Sansa could say another word Arya slipped her arms around her sister. At first, Sansa did not respond, caught by surprise, but slowly her arms came around Arya. In the darkened shadows of Winterfell the two Stark sisters held one another.

"What happened?" Sansa whispered.

Arya tried to answer her several times, but no words would loosen from her lips. This would be the last time she saw her sister. The last time she would hold her so close. The past did not matter anymore. The hurtful and angered words spoken between them over the years did not matter anymore. They floated away like flowers in a breeze.

"Will you follow me?" Arya asked, letting go and taking her sister's hand.

Sansa followed her without question. Arya led her through the courtyard towards the crypts. When they reached the entrance Sansa faltered, her eyes growing wide.

"Trust me," Arya said, softly.

Arya led the way down into the darkened crypts. She grabbed a single candle to light their way. Arya could find her way down here without any light. She had spent so much time here as a kid among the long dead of her family. They made their way through the labyrinth of Winterfell's crypts, until Arya saw the light ahead of them.

Sandor stood at the end of a long hallway. He was not alone. Beside him, Gendry stood. His eyes roamed the dark walls around them as if he feared they would cave in on top of them. Arya stilled her nerves for what was to come.

Soon, the light from the candle and footsteps grabbed the men's attention. When Gendry noticed Arya he stepped forward, his forehead furrowed in confusion.

The four of them met, their eyes staring at each other. Sansa and Gendry waited for an explanation, while Sandor waited for his orders. There was no more time to waste.

Arya turned towards Sansa, giving her sister a reassuring smile, although she felt the smile was not even big enough to see. She took her sister's hands in her own and brought them to her chest.

"The army of the dead will be upon us in less than two days. There is another army right outside our door. They have given us permission to get the women and children out of Winterfell. They need a leader, Sansa. They need you," Arya whispered.

"You—you want me to leave? This is my home. My family is here," Sansa protested.

"I know," Arya whispered back. "But, you are also the lady of Winterfell and your people need you. They need to be led to safety. We cannot let them remain and die here, Sansa."

Arya looked over at Sandor. The man nodded his head answering the question she did not have the strength to ask. The women and children had gone into the crypts to wait out the war, but they were nowhere to be found now. Sandor had reached them. He had told them to wait at the edge of the crypts for their escape… the orders coming from their King. Now, all they needed to go was their Lady.

"Father would be proud of you, you know," Arya said, smiling through her tears.

"I—I cannot leave," Sansa said, her own emotions taking over. Arya saw her indecision.

"If they stay they will die, Sansa. You must lead them away from this place of death to the Vale. Our cousin will welcome you with open arms and there you will stay until the war is over." Arya grabbed Sansa's hands, raising them to her face, and rubbing them against her cheek.

"I—I," Sansa said, faltering.

"You can. You will."

Arya held her sister's gaze, their eyes filled with tears. Sansa broke first, I gentle sob escaping her lips as she fell into Arya's arms. The sisters held one another, their fates decided.

"We have to go," Sandor said, his voice soft.

"You are going?" Sansa asked, her lips quivering.

"I will not let you do this alone," he answered. His voice was the softest Arya had ever heard him be. She knew he did not want to go, knew he wanted to stay and fight. She also knew he would protect Sansa above all else.

Sansa released Arya and walked towards Sandor. She took one last long look at her sister, but Arya was already looking elsewhere. Her tear streaked face looked at Gendry.

"Do not even think about it," he said, grinding out the words.

She knew he would not go easily. She knew he would fight his way out of these crypts to be by her side. She knew she could not allow that. Arya needed Gendry to survive if there was a chance he could survive. He would probably hate her for this, but being able to hate her meant he was still breathing. If that was the case, she welcomed his hate.

Arya walked towards him, a breath's beat away from his body. She could feel his fear and confusion of what was happening. Her hands moved to his face. Shaky finger slowly moved down his cheek. His eyes fluttered close, his breath on her face. She leaned forward, her lips softly kissing his closed eyelids. Her lips slid down his cheeks until she found his lips. He welcomed her kiss, embraced her as if she were his lifeline.

"Do not ever doubt that I love you, Gendry. If you live a part of me always will to," she whispered in his ear.

He had no time to respond, no time to prepare for what was coming. Sandor had come up behind him as Arya distracted him. Whatever he used to hit Gendry over the head it had worked. Gendry fell in a heap at Arya's feet. He did not move.

Arya looked down at him, her face crumbling. She fell to her knees touching his neck. His pulse beat strong and true under her fingers.

"What did you do?" Sansa said, gasping.

"He would not go, otherwise," Arya answered, her eyes closing. Sansa opened her mouth to respond, but Arya beat her to it. "He will need you, Sansa. His anger will be much. Tell him over and over I did this because I love him. Tell him until he starts to say it himself. I need him alive. Those women and children will need him alive. Remind him every day they need him. And when this war is over, continue to remind him of my love."

"Why could you not do that? Arya…"

Arya looked up at her sister, realization filling her eyes. Her head started shaking rapidly, her eyes growing wide.

"Sandor, take them," Arya whispered, her resolve weakening.

"Arya, no…" Sansa tried saying, but Sandor grabbed her arm and pulled her away. Gendry was laid over one of his shoulders, his long arms dangling.

How long would he hate Arya for what she had done? How long would he spit at her memory? Would she be able to feel his wrath where she was going? All of these questions and more ran through her mind the longer she watched them walk away from her. She watched long after they disappeared around the corner. Long after the light Sansa had held had disappeared.

She watched the empty space before her long into the day. Gendry was gone. He was safe. He was not safe. She was not sure, but she knew she had at least given him a chance. Every breath she took felt like glass.

Arya finally emerged from the crypts as sunset approached. With the women and children gone Winterfell sounded quiet. The place felt huge. Why was it so quiet? Arya looked around, the question screaming in her head. The silence ate away at her, until finally her eyes fell upon the forge. The answer to her question hit her fully in the chest. There was no sound coming from the forge. She had sent Gendry away.

Arya leaned against the wall, her strength seeping away, and finally allowed herself to let go and sob.


	23. Chapter 23

Long after her tears had dried, Arya sat outside facing the Godswood. Her body had long since grown numb to the cold around her. It had been hours since she had sent Sansa, Sandor and Gendry away with the women and children. Was Gendry awake? Was he struggling to get back to her? Or had Sandor come up with a plan to keep him from escaping. There was no doubt in Ayra's mind he would try to get back to her. She prayed Sandor would not allow that to happen.

She felt someone slide down the wall and sit beside her. She did not have to look to see who it was. She felt him deep within her soul. When her eyes slid towards him he was watching her, a look of concern in his dark eyes. They sat in silence, their eyes locked as one. Arya felt so tired, so lost. Her head slowly came down and rested upon Jon's arm. She felt the pressure of his cheek upon her head and sighed.

"You know what I've done?" She asked.

For a few moments he did not answer her, but blew out a long breath. "Yes," he responded, softly. "Bran told me."

"Are you angry?"

"No… but, I wish that you had gone with them."

Arya slammed her eyes closed. Her fate was here in Winterfell. There was no escape for her.

"I'm needed here," she whispered.

Jon turned his head and softly kissed her head, his lips lingering for a few moments. Arya wanted to hold on to moments like that one. She wanted to hold fast to them, for they would get her through the long night.

"I want you safe. Even if that means being far away from me. You should have gone with them, Arya. Winterfell is the last hope for Westeros. If we fail…"

Arya grabbed Jon's hand, squeezing. She wanted to silence his doubt, his fear. She would save them. In her sacrifice she would save them all. Oh, how she wanted to reassure him that she would never let any harm come to him or anyone else. Arya swallowed her words down a parched throat. Instead, she held his hand firmly in her own. They remained that way long after the sun went down giving way to the moon.

"Jon…"

Arya had almost forgotten that there were others at Winterfell, or even the world for that matter. Being with Jon has soothed the ache enough for her to relax her mind and enjoy the man's presence beside her. When she looked up, she saw Daenerys standing before them in all of her beauty. The women locked eyes. Arya saw something pass over her face, a look of unease… even jealousy. But, there was something else, something that caused the hair on the back of Arya's neck to stand.

"Daenerys," Jon acknowledged, but he did not move to stand.

The woman slid her eyes from Arya's to Jon's. Her face relaxed immediately. She fiddled with her hands, as if nervous. "May we go somewhere private and talk? There is something that has come to my attention and we need to discuss it."

The look was as quick as a blink, but Arya had seen it. A look of enormous joy. It was there one minute and gone the next, hidden behind a stoic look.

"Yes… yes, there is much we need to discuss," Jon replied.

He turned to Arya, as if needing permission to leave her. She smiled, yet her smile did not reach her eyes. Why did she feel as if she were losing him too? Arya wanted every single moment she had left with Jon, but she knew he was needed many places and not just at her side. She would let them talk, and then he would return to her. After all, they were kin. Arya wasn't sure that Daenerys even knew.

"Go," she said, softly.

He did not stand at once, but lingered. The concern still shown in his eyes, yet she could see his love for her there as well. He leaned into her forehead, her skin burning from his lips as he kissed her. As Jon moved to stand, Arya stole a glance at Daenerys. The woman was staring at her, tears glistening in the moonlight, a look of knowing registering on her face. Had she seen something in their embrace to give away their true feelings? By the look on the woman's face the answer was yes.

"Lead the way," Jon said, ignorant of Daenerys broken look. She nodded her head, as if to answer some unspoken question and turned to walk away.

Arya watched them go, until the shadows swallowed them. She pulled herself to her feet and walked towards her bed. Her body felt as if it had been awake for weeks. It would take her only minutes to give in to the darkness.

Before she could make it up to her quarters she noticed Bran watching her. The thought of sleep instantly vanished and she hurried to her brother's side. He said nothing to her when she stood before him, but turned his chair and rolled towards the Godswood. Arya watched him for a moment, dread seeping into her bones.

She forced her feet to take one step at a time, until she stood behind Bran in front of the gods tree. It was dark, yet she could make out the face on the trunk of the large tree. Her father's tree.

"So much is being asked of you is it not, sister?" Bran's soft voice said.

"It is my choice," she answered.

Bran rolled his chair around to face her, his face a wall of stone. She saw no emotion in his eyes, no feelings staring back at her. This boy made man was a stranger to her now. Yes, everything was asked of her, but she realized she was not the only one. Bran had lost so much as well.

"Are you willing to go further? Are you willing to make the choice of letting Jon go?"

His question caught her off guard. Let Jon go? Was that not what she would do when she sacrificed herself to the Night King? She licked her lips to speak, but she was not sure what the question should be.

"I'm giving my life to save us all. Does that not count as giving Jon up?" She said, her anger rising. "I gave Gendry up and sent him away to protect him. Why not give the other up as well!"

"Arya…"

"No," she interrupted. "You encouraged my feelings for Jon… for Gendry. You said that love would save us. Now, you ask me to walk away from Jon too? I won't give him up until my last breath! Then, and only then, will he be free of me!"

"Help him to let you go. It is the only way. Yes, I said to love Jon, but that was before…" Arya turned to walk away, but Bran's words stopped her. "I saw a man sitting atop the Iron throne with hair as black as night. This man will heal our land after its devastation. He will bring his people together for a future none of us thought possible."

Arya slowly turned, her wide eyes staring at her brother. "Jon?"

"Jon Targaryen, first of his name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.."

The words hung in the air between them. Jon would survive. He would be king and lead his people to peace and rebuilding. He would go on long after she left this world.

"You saw this?" Arya whispered.

"Yes. Our survival rests on your shoulders. Jon is learning a truth tonight. A truth that will shake the very foundation on which he stands, but his choice will affect us all. You must help him choose, sister."

"What choice?" Arya asked.

Bran looked away from her, his eyes glossed over. Was he trapped in another vision? She waited, but he never responded. "Bran?" she called to him, but he did not answer. His words were always riddles that she could not solve.

After several minutes of her calling Bran's name and no response she left him in the Godswood. Her body ached from head to toe, ached for her bed. She would sleep until Jon came looking for her.

Some time later Arya was awoken by someone entering her room. She shot up in bed, the dagger in her hand. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness immediately, sleep releasing her mind. Jon stood before her, his eyes bloodshot and swollen.

Arya dropped the dagger to her side in a rush and stared, wide-eyed, at Jon's state. Something had happened. She felt her lungs constrict, felt the blood rush from her face. Had something happened to Gendry and the others? Had she sent them to their deaths?

"Jon?" she croaked, her voice barely working. "What's happened? Is it Sansa? Gendry?"

Jon shook his head, "No, it is not them," he answered, though his voice was different. He looked around the room, as if he did not know how he got there. He was beginning to worry Arya.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Her body relaxed as her heart slowed its out of control rhythm.

Jon rubbed his face, his hands slowly moving into his hair as he grabbed a handful and sat on the bed beside her. Arya gently grabbed his hands and brought them from his head. She kissed his knuckles, her lips hovering over his skin as he whispered.

"She's…"

His voice died away before Arya could understand the last word. "She's what, Jon? Who are you talking about?" Arya asked.

"Daenerys. She's pregnant… my child."

Arya stared at the man beside her as his words began to make sense in her jumbled mind. Daenerys was pregnant. The child was Jon's. They had conceived on the boat that had brought them home. Arya remembered the night well.

She stood from the bed and took several small steps away from Jon. All the while, her mind and heart screamed of the news he had just told her. Pregnant. Jon's child. His and Daenerys'. Arya grabbed her stomach. A feeling as if being split into crashed upon her. This must be what Bran was trying to tell her. The news Jon learned tonight.

"Is she certain?" Arya whispered.

"Yes. The Maesters confirmed it."

Arya turned from him and closed her eyes. It was becoming harder for her body to fight for air. The moment Jon's arms came around her she let out a soft sob. His strong arms tightened around her, his own soft sob in her ear. Arya turned and threw her arms around his neck. She knew what this news meant. She knew what he would do, what he would have to do. And she knew she would have to support him.

 _Are you willing to go further? Are you willing to make the choice of letting Jon go?_ Bran's words whispered in her mind. She held him tighter, even as her heart knew the choice was already made.

In the darkness of her room, as the remaining people of Winterfell slept, she and Jon broke. His lips kissed away her tears, yet they could not kiss away the pain. They could not kiss away the loneliness that had already creeped in. Was it better this way? Arya would lose Jon no matter what happened. At least she could leave him knowing he was not alone.

"You must marry her. Her child is the heir to the Iron throne. It can't be… it can't be…,"

"A bastard," Jon whispered, finishing the word she could not bring herself to say.

If Jon turned his back on Daenerys and their child it would have major repercussions for a future Westeros and its rebuilding and healing. People would rise up against their child, looking at him or her as a bastard. Westeros would crumble. Everything Good Jon would do for this kingdom would waste away without a trueborn heir.

"You have a reason to survive this war now! You will be there to raise this child and love them. You'll walk away from me and go to it's mother and marry her."

"Arya…" he said. Her name came out like a beg.

"I will always love you. Nothing will ever change that. But, you must do what is right." She lifted her eyes to his, his pain almost rivaling her own. "That child is our future, Jon. One of these days it will sit on the Iron Throne after you. You will teach him or her how to rule the right way, with a good heart. It's been so long since we have had a good leader, Jon."

"I cannot lose you," he whispered.

 _Help him to let you go. It is the only way._

"You already have," she whispered back, causing his face to crumble. "You are one of the strongest people that I know. You know what is right here, Jon. I will always be with you, no matter what happens, but you must walk this path now."

In that moment it dawned Arya that this was her goodbye to him. All of her words had double meanings, a finality to them. The gods had given her a chance to say goodbye.

"I will always love you, too! Until my last breath," he said, laying his forehead on Arya's.

"That is all I need."

They stood together in each other's arms for what seemed like ages. Every second that passed made it clear to them both what Jon needed to do. Their tears flowed steadily, until slowly they stopped. Arya whispered words of encouragement, words of her love, to him as he wrestled with letting her go. Arya knew he would not just give her up unless she made it clear it was what she wanted.

"I never wanted to leave a bastard behind," he whispered, more to himself than Arya. "My child deserves more."

"He will have more," Arya whispered. She reached up and took Jon's face between her hands. Arya would give anything to take his pain away if she could. He knew as well as she did that his choice was made. He only needed to say it aloud. She cursed this world of its cruelty, of its unfairness. She had played a game with fate for the love of two men and had lost them both.

"I don't know if I can walk away from you. Even for this child," he said, guilt and shame eating at him.

Arya realized she would have to make the decision for him. It was always hers to make from the very beginning. Bran's vision only confirmed it.

"When the war is over you will be king of Westeros with Daenerys and your child by your side. I—I will be with Gendry as it should be."

The lie tasted like hot metal on her tongue, but the Faceless Men had taught her how to lie so well. Her eyes never waivered. The tears never came. She spoke her lie as if she believed every word.

"You don't mean that," Jon whispered, trying to grab her in an embrace.

She stepped out of his reach, her body cold like stone. She wanted him to hold her, wanted him to kiss her all over, but this was her choice. Jon would live, and he would heal them all.

"I mean every word. I do love you, Jon. But, I love Gendry more and since the moment I sent him away I've been thinking a lot about what I want. I want a life with him. I was going to tell you earlier before we were interrupted. I want you to marry Daenerys and raise your child together. You know what it was like growing up a bastard. Your child does not have to know that life."

Jon flinched at her words, the hurt palpable in his dark eyes. Arya had never called him a bastard, had never seen him as less in her family.

"You want Gendry?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied without hesitation.

"After everything. After last night?" She saw anger in his eyes and she welcomed it. Jon always allowed his anger to overwhelm him and make brash decisions. His anger would push him into Daenerys' arms. Even as she broke inside, she nodded her head. It was the final nail, the final goodbye.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"You're sorry?" he spat. "Why should I wait to marry her then? I may not even survive this war!" He screamed the final words, but Arya did not react. She kept her face neutral, not showing the turmoil within her. This was almost over, and then she could collapse.

"Give me a reason, please…" he softly begged.

"Marry Daenerys, Jon. It is the way it should be," Arya replies.

The hope in his eyes dulled to nothingness. He looked around the room as if he could find the answers he needed, but when his eyes came back to her she saw his tears. It took all of her strength not to show those tears gutted her. She shrugged her shoulders, as if it meant nothing to her. He would understand one day. When she was gone and he was King he would understand. He would have a family, a life, and he would be happy again.

Those thoughts are what kept her from begging him to stay when he turned to leave. A long while after he left, Arya stared at the walls ahead of her. There would be no more sleep for her that night. She grabbed her wool blanket and left the room.

When she made it to the courtyard, she heard voices floating towards her from the Godswood. She followed the sound, hiding in the shadows. Before the godstree stood four darkened figures.

"I am hers (his). She (he) is mine. From this day forward until the end of my days..."

Arya felt the air around her thicken and suffocate her. Her heart split in two and fell towards her feet. Jon and Daenerys spoke the vows of marriage in the middle of the night. Arya covered her mouth, covered the scream wanting to push forward.

Jon leaned forward, capturing Daenerys in a kiss to seal their marriage in front of their few witnesses. Should she not feel happy for him? This was the way it always should have been. Arya would not survive this war, but Jon would. Did he not deserve happiness? Yes, he did, but that did not stop the pain from screaming in her mind.

Arya slowly fell to her knees. An overwhelming force too great for her to bear sat upon her shoulders. She was truly alone now. There was a moment in time where she resented the love of two men. Now, she longed for it. She had lost Gendry. She had lost Jon.

"Go on. I will meet you in the Great Hall in a moment," Jon said to Daenerys.

She hesitated a moment before nodding her head and heading out of the Godswood. Jon was left alone, his head falling. She watched him lean against the godstree, his shoulders shaking. Jon was crying. His fist beat against the bark of the tree, his sobs rising. Her name was whispered from his lips over and over like a prayer.

"Arya… Arya…"

Arya had no choice but to watch him in silence. If she went and consoled him he would see right through her. No amount of lies would hide what she really felt. Jon had made the choice for his unborn son. He had given up all rights to Arya for the child Daenerys carried. No longer would the child be a bastard.

Jon gathered himself, pushing away his pain and wiping the tears away. The moment he turned he froze. Arya watched him, watched his eyes grow wide as the breath coming from his mouth grew thick and white. The more he breathed out, the more the white fog grew. Suddenly, from somewhere beyond Winterfell's gates came a great cry.

"Open the gates!" Someone high above Winterfell yelled.

Arya turned on her heels, no longer caring if Jon saw her. She ran to the top of the battlement overlooking outside of the gates. The Lannister army pushed their way towards the gates, their screams shattering the silence of the night.

They slammed into the gates as one. Some of the men were trampled in the horror of what was happening.

"Open the gates! Let them in!" Jon screamed, coming to Arya's side.

Jon's men began to open the gates, the large wooden structure moving at a snail's pace. Over the hill in the distance a large darkness grew. Arya squinted her eyes, begging the night to give up its secret. Somewhere in the cover of the clouds above them a screech could be heard in the distance.

The minutes passed by. Arya could barely breathe. Suddenly, the darkness gave up its hold as she had asked, and her eyes beheld a sight that ran her blood cold. As far as the eye could see stood the army of the dead.

"They're here," Jon breathed, his wide eyes searching their nightmarish sight.

The army of the dead had come at last.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I am not going to even remotely act like I can write the Battle of Winterfell like what we will see on the show or in the books. I really cannot do what we will see in the show, so forgive me if it feels rushed or not epic. A 55 day shoot for one battle, no way on earth anyone can write and give that justice lol. This is a small version of maybe one minute of what we will see! I hope I don't disappoint, but again I cannot write a battle scene and get anywhere near right on it! So, keep that in mind as you read this chapter. And as always, thank you for reading. Now, on with the show...**

Screams. There were so many screams. Thousands of screams joined together in a chorus of terror. All Arya could do was watch. She had seen death, had felt its cold fingers wrap around her throat many times, but she had never seen death like this. Death was a friend, someone she knew well with his many faces. In that moment, she felt betrayed by Death. Betrayed, because it had withheld from her the its most sinister face yet.

The Lannister army ran towards the walls of Winterfell, their terrified faces showing in the moonlight. Some of them made it. The majority of them did not. They were outnumbered, and their camp was too far away. A heavy fog creeped towards them, engulfing the ones at the back of the large group, and sliding over the rest.

Long after this night was over, long after the moon turned many years, people who witnessed the fog would wake in the middle of the night. There would be a sheen of sweat covering their bodies from head to toe, their wide-eyes staring into the darkness and seeing that white fog. The fog of Death. The screams were there one minute and squelched the next. It only took seconds to silence thousands.

When the fog cleared, bodies lay scattered, the white snow below them turning to blood. Arya tried to breathe, but her lungs refused to cooperate. The army of the dead had massacred thousands of Lannister men before Arya could even conjure up a complete sentence.

Silence reigned down upon them as thick as the screams only moments before. As far as the eye could see the army of the darkness stood, their eyes turned to Winterfell. Arya had a feeling that if they could talk they would say, ' _Look what I can do. You humans have no hope'._ The fog was not done giving away its secrets.

It rose further from the ground until it disappeared, and what Arya saw made her take a step back. She saw something large hovering over the ground, it's large wings flapping about its body. One of Daenerys' dragons, it had to be. It's eyes shone like large topaz rocks in the darkness. His nostrils flared as he opened his mouth and gave a mighty roar.

Arya stepped back again, her eyes wide. The rider of the dead dragon raised his hands into the air. The dead Lannister soldiers twitched and moved, until suddenly they began to sit up. As one they stood to their feet, their mortal wounds showing. The Night King, Arya thought, as she tore her eyes away from the dead men and stared at the one on the dragon. He was the one she needed to get to.

For the longest time nothing happened. The army of the dead stood as still as stone, the silence between the living and the dead growing. Jon moved first as his voice broke the silence.

"Archers!" he screamed. "Archers, at my command!"

Men ran atop the battlements, their bows and arrows at their side. Arya stepped aside for them, her eyes following Jon. His sword was in his hands, his body wound tight with tension.

"Nock!" The archers grabbed their arrows, putting them in place.

"Draw!" Their arms raised their bows as one. They held the arrows back as tightly as they could, the sound of the bowstring's tension deafening. For a few seconds Jon watched the scene before him as if he were hoping this would make the undead army flee. They did not.

"Loose!" Jon yelled, and hundreds of arrows went flying into the dead of night. Most of them hit their targets. The screams were back, yet this time they sounded like hurt animals more than humans. Each arrow that left the archer's bow was encased in dragonglass. The finest work Gendry had ever done. The undead fell, dying a second death, and one that none of them would return from. It had worked. The dragonglass worked.

The Night King watched atop his dragon, his face looking down at some of his dead soldiers. He recoiled the dragon back to where none of the arrows could reach them. Silence reigned on them once more.

"Again!" Jon yelled.

The archers locked their arrows again and sent them flying towards the undead army. Some hit their targets while others stuck in the snow. The undead had fallen back out of reach.

"Hold!" Jon yelled, walking towards Arya. "Go down below. Tell every man to gather their swords and horses and prepare to fight. These arrows will not hold them for long."

Arya nodded her head, her body finally deciding to breathe before she passed out. She turned to do as Jon asked, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. Their faces were inches from one another, his hot breath melting her frozen cheeks.

"If they overrun the walls you run, do you understand? You get down into the crypts and you run and don't stop until you're safe on the other side. There is a horse tied to a tree at the exit of the crypts I've left for you. You take it to the Vale and you warn them that Winterfell has fallen. After that, you, Gendry, Sansa and Sandor run until you have no choice but to flee on water."

"Jon," Arya whispered.

"Winterfell will fall, Arya. We will not hold them off. Please, please do this for me, so that I can know you will be safe. So I can fight to the very end… for you," he begged.

Arya threw her arms around Jon. She did not care who saw her, did not care if the Night King himself was watching. She knew, had always known, that Winterfell would not stop the undead army. They could slow them down. They could put up a good fight. But, in the end her home would fall and all that was within its walls.

"I promise," she said, her voice quivering at the lie. She would tell him whatever he needed to hear, whatever would make him survive long enough for her to stop this.

This time, when she turned to walk away he let her go. Arya headed down the stairs as fast as she could, yelling for everyone to mount their horses and get ready for war. No one questioned her. The men grabbed their horses, unsheathing their swords. The battle for Winterfell had just begun.

A scream pierced the night. Something sounding like a large earthquake erupted outside of Winterfell's gates. The undead army was on the move. Above her, she heard Jon scream for the archers to release their arrows. All around her, men turned their horses towards the gates. Daenerys foreign army of Dothraki looked uncertain, scared even, but they lined up with the rest of the men… waiting. Even Daenerys drew forward on her horse, her loud words in Dothraki calling her men to be brave and strong.

Tyrion was by her side, as was Jamie Lannister and a man named Bronn. Ser Davos, Brienne, Ser Jorah, Tormund, Beric and Podrick were there as well. So many faces, some she knew and some she did not. Everyone had a reason to fight, and they would fight together. Not all of them would make it, no matter what she did.

"I need Drogon!" Daenerys shouted, fear in her eyes.

"Your grace, you must think of the baby," Missandei begged.

Arya did not wait to hear her reply, but ran towards the battlements again. She wanted to see the undead army coming. When she saw what was before her she wished she had not been so eager. The arrows flew and hit their marks, yet there were twenty more to take each fallen's place. The Night King remained where he was, and Arya wondered why he did not strike at Winterfell with his dragon.

She received her answer in the form of two loud cries from above them. Arya turned her face upwards and saw Drogon and Rhaegal flying above Winterfell. They hovered for a moment and disappeared, flying the opposite way. Arya watched them until she could not see them any longer. Her eyes found Jon, a sudden coldness licking at her veins.

"No," she whispered, but he was already running down from the battlements. She watched him, too frozen to call out for him. In his place, Jamie Lannister came. He screamed for the archers to reign down their arrows once more.

When she looked down she noticed Daenerys was gone as well. Missandei looked towards somewhere hidden from Arya's view. Tears streamed down her face as fear ate at her beauty.

She had no time to run for them as a great force ran into the gates of Winterfell. The gates held firm, but for how long? One after the other arrows reigned down at the intruders, but they came too fast to stop. Giants followed them, their blue eyes glowing as they bared their rotten teeth.

There were other creatures as well, some too frightening to comprehend. Large dead spiders, their long legs moving faster than it should have been possible, came at the gates wanting to taste the flesh of men. There were even wolves among their numbers, some too big to be normal wolves. Direwolves.

"Nymeria" Arya breathed, her eyes scanning the numerous beasts to see a familiar one. She was not there.

As soon as Drogon and Rhaegal disappeared the Night King flew his dragon towards Winterfell.

"Get down!" Jamie screamed.

Arya bolted from the spot she was rooted upon, taking the stairs two at a time as the men behind her pushed and shoved. She jumped the last little way and rolled out of the way of the horrified group of men. The Night King came into view, hovering above Winterfell, and unleashed his dragon. Blue fire came down upon the gates, upon their only barrier against the undead army, and blew the entire gate and walls from where they stood.

Suddenly, Drogon and Rhaegal were there, their mouths open and ready to strike. Upon their backs were two riders. Daenerys and Jon. Arya had no choice but to watch as Jon flew his dragon straight towards the Night King. The three dragons and their riders flew out of sight, yet their screams could be heard for many many miles. The battle in the sky had begun at the exact moment the undead army poured through the heart of Winterfell.

Arya grabbed her dragonglass dagger in one hand and her Valyrian dagger in the other.

"What do we say to the god of death?" She whispered.

Three undead soldiers ran towards her. She cut them down with ease, their bones rattling at her feet.

"Not Today," she finished.

They crawled through holes, through every part of knocked down wall they could find like insects. The smell of death festered in her nostrils and caked upon her skin, yet she refused to yield to them. Her dragonglass dagger cut the air in one direction. Her Valyrian blade cut the other direction.

Arya felt their hands grab at her hair. They grabbed at her arms and her legs. Their long claws scraped bloody lines down her skin, but her daggers never stopped moving.

All around her, she could hear the screams of the dying. The desperation of wanting to live, yet knowing you would die, ate away at her sanity. Something ran in to her knocking her to the ground. She gasped at the sudden pain shooting from her head as it slapped against a large rock. Blood pooled from a cut above her eye momentarily blinding her.

A Dothraki rider lay dead beside her, his eyes unseeing for only moments before they would turn blue. His horse had been the thing that knocked in to her as the undead began to feast upon its flesh. Arya stumbled to her feet while they were distracted, yet the world around her blurred in and out.

She looked around the carnage, her vision coming back to her. Her home, a place that stood for her parents and Rob. For Rickon and Sansa. For Bran and Jon. Her home was no more. They had taken it so easily, as if it were made of sticks against the mighty roar of a flame. Men lay dying upon the snow, their faces showing their terror.

There was no way to stop them. There were too many. For every one of her men there were thousands of undead. One of them came towards her and she shoved the dragon glass dagger into its chest, a scream of rage splitting her lips. Another came. And then another came. On and on they came, until she could not see anything but them.

A large flame shot out before her. She felt the heat of it singe the hairs on her arms, but the flame had opened up a large hole for her to escape. Above her, Rhaegal screamed and blew his fire down upon the undead taking many of them out. Jon turned his dragon back to the fight in the sky.

He had given many a way to escape, including Arya, and she took it. She ran towards the crypts, her daggers slashing every undead that stood in her way. She was about to enter the crypts when something caught her attention and she stopped cold. Brieanne lay sprawled out on the snow, one arm ripped from her body. Her eyes stared up into the dead of night, blood pooling into her blond hair. Not far from her Podrick lay… dead as well.

Missandei was surrounded by a group of undead, their hands reaching for her body. Her only guard was Tyrion. In his hand he held a sword too big for him, too heavy. She recognized Brienne's sword in the chaos. Missandei screamed when one of the undead dug its claws into her upper arm. Tyrion was able to raise the sword and slash at the hand, but that was all. They would not make it.

Arya turned for the safety of the crypts, but she could not shake Missandei's screams. She turned and ran towards the two fighting for their lives. Her time with the Faceless Men came into play as she cut a murderous path through the undead. She twisted from their reach, her dagger cutting into their bones.

"Run for the crypts," she screamed at Missandei and Tyrion, their way opened.

Arya turned to join them, but something heavy ran into her and she went down hard. She had only a second to grab the furry creature on top of her before it's dead face came towards hers. Large black teeth and a gaping mouth chomped it's way towards her face. She grabbed it by the throat, it's blue eyes staring hatefully towards her. Her hands slid through its fur into its dead carcass, but it kept aiming for her face.

There was something about its face, about its eyes even as it burned blue. She had seen the face before, many times, in her dreams. In the waking hours of the day. The dead thing on top of her trying to kill her was Bran's direwolf.

Arya screamed and found the strength to kick direwolf from on top of her. She scrambled to her feet and ran. The way to the crypts was blocked with hundreds of undead. She had no choice but to go up, up into the inside of Winterfell's castle. She drew the attention of two undead and they chased her along with The direwolf.

Through the darkened halls she ran as fast as she could. Her chest hurt for breath, for rest, but she pushed on down the hallways past her parents bedroom. Past her own bedroom. Laughter used to fill these halls, but now she felt only death. She smelled only the stench of her own mortality and that of the things chasing her.

She hid behind a wall to catch her breath. Sweat poured from her face, the saltiness stinging her eyes. Bran had never said it would happen like this. He said she would save them, yet they were already defeated. Trapped in the tombs of the crypts those people who had made it were doomed to die in darkness. Jon and Daenerys could be dead by now for all she knew. It was if she were the last person on earth, separated from the living.

She looked straight ahead, her breathing short and ragged. The dragon glass dagger was held firmly to her chest. Somewhere along the way she had lost the Valyrian dagger. She was down to just one weapon. She was never one to pray, but her lips moved at their own accord begging for one of the Seven to hear her. She begged for them to get her out of the darkened hallway onto the battlefield. It was her fate, her destiny, to stand face to face with the Night King. She was not supposed to die in this hallway. Not this night.

Behind her, she heard the growls and cries from her chasers. They had reached the top of the stairs and she bolted from her hiding place down the darkened corridor. They must have spotted her, for she heard them run towards her. She ran around the corner and ran right into Ser Davos and Tormund. She wanted to cry out in relief, but there was no time.

Arya turned, standing shoulder to shoulder with the men as the undead came around the corner. Arya went for the direwolf as Ser Davos and Tormund went for the two white walkers. Swords clashed with swords as their shadows danced across the walls, the only audience to the battle before them. Tormund was the first to rid himself of the thing trying to kill them. He stepped up to Arya, his Dragonglass dagger ready to do battle.

Arya felt it within her soul every time her dagger slashed across the direwolf's body. She felt a sharp pain in her own chest when she thrust the dagger in its chest. She felt the tears upon her cheeks when it cried out in pain and defeat. Yet, she continued to slash and thrust until the undead thing moved no more.

"T—Tormund."

Arya was so caught up in the dead direwolf at her feet that she had forgotten all about Ser Davos. She had forgotten he had been left to fight on his own as Tormund had come to her aid. When she turned to look at him, she felt her heart fall down to her feet. Davos sat against the wall holding his stomach. Blood pooled between his fingers. Tormund rushed to him, grabbing his wound as if he could somehow stop the blood.

Ser Davos' face showed the enormous pain he felt. Arya walked towards him, falling to her knees at his side. She could smell his blood, could smell his lifeforce coming out of his stomach. She, too, reached down and held his wound, but she could see the light slowly going out of the man's eyes. He had only moments.

"D—don't let me t—turn I—I—into one of t—those t—things," he begged them.

"Rest, my friend," Tormund said, softly.

"N—no!" Ser Davos begged, his face crumbling in fear.

His eyes grew wide as he struggled for breath. His hands twisted Tormund's shirt, tears falling from his eyes. Blood dripped down the side of his mouth. Arya knew what needed to be done, but the thought of doing it made her freeze. This man had been Jon's most trusted friend. He had loved Jon and taken care of him, risking his life for him. For that, Arya loved him too.

"Please…" he whispered, the final breath coming out slow and long.

Ser Davos stared at the shadows dancing across the walls, yet he saw nothing but darkness. His body stilled, his bloody hand falling at his side. Arya and Tormund stared at the man for what seemed like an eternity. The man from Fleabottom, who saved a man and his army with a batch of onions and who saved another by magic, was dead.

"We have to burn him," Arya said, rising to her feet and taking down a flamestick. This was the part of death she knew so well. This was the part of death she was comfortable with. She knew how to answer the dreams of a dying person, knew how to send their bodies to wherever they wished to go. Yes, she was used to this part.

Tormund stood and turned his back to what she was about to do. She thought his shoulders were shaking, but she knew better to ask a Wildling if he were crying. He deserved to feel human emotions like the next person. Arya grabbed some oils from one of the rooms and poured it carefully and respectfully over Ser Davos' body. She laid the flamestick across his chest and gathered more. Soon, she had set his body aflame. He would never be one of those things… an undead. She had given him his peace and now he was off to wherever it is Onion Knights go.

Arya left Tormund standing over Davos' burning body and walked inside her room. The moonlight crawled across the floor towards her shoe. She stared at it, marveled at its beauty on a night like this. Even as Winterfell burned the world kept turning. She could hear the undead screaming and clawing at the earth, but as she looked outside her window she noticed none of them dared step foot inside the crypt. They pushed and shoved, some even threw themselves over the heads of others, but none of them even tried to go down in the crypts. As she watched, one undead was shoved into the entrance and he exploded in ash and bone.

"It's protected," she whispered.

"It won't be for long."

She gasped and turned suddenly. Bran was there, his stoned face staring at her.

"Why are you not down there?" Arya asked.

"If I go in there he will be able to go too. It's safer for me up here."

"Safer, Bran, they have torn our house apart." Her voice cracked showing him her emotion, yet he did not pay her with the same respect. Bran looked as though the thought of Winterfell crumbling did not have an affect on him.

"It is almost over," he said.

His eyes had been looking out of the window, but when he said his words they looked towards her. She felt them penetrate to her very soul, felt the weight of what was hers to carry crash down on her. What he meant was that it was almost over for her.

"I could have saved them," she whispered.

"Lives were going to be lost either way. It is war, Arya."

"You told me I would save them," she said, louder.

"And you will. You need only to find the way out."

She looked around. There was no way out. She could not go out into the courtyard and past the fallen walls. The undead were waiting for her. She looked out the window again and a memory came to her mind. She and Bran used to climb from this very window to the flat surface of the roof and over towards the large wall that still stood. From there, there were stairs leading down to the back gate of Winterfell. That was how the two of them used to escape into the open lands surrounding their home.

"Bran wishes he could climb with you," he said, so low she barely heard him.

"I wish he could too," she whispered.

Her hands shook as she slowly opened her window. None of the undead below her seemed to pay her any attention. Arya turned and looked at her brother one final time.

"I am sorry, Arya. But, this is the only way. It is the only way to stop the Night King."

"Will it hurt? she asked, a tear slipping down her cheek.

"Yes," he answered, no hesitation in his voice. "It will be the most painful choice you have ever had to make. But you'll make it for him. To save him."

Jon. His name floated upon her lips as she turned to go out of the window to end this nightmare. If she would have waited just one more second she would have seen a look a guilt pass across the face of the boy who used to be Bran Stark before the Three Eyed Raven took over again.


	25. Chapter 25

Arya stepped down from the wooden stairs as quietly as possible. Behind her, the horde of undead continued to try and find a weakness into the crypts. There was none. When her feet touched the snow she ran. She ran as fast as she could. Snow fell all around her, sticking into her hair and face. She ignored it, a feeling of absolute dread overcoming her. Above her head Rhaegal flew, his screams making her bones shutter.

Arya looked up for only a moment and noticed several wounds upon the dragon's body. She had no time to worry as the large gate at the back of Winterfell came into view. A long spear lay before her in her path. She scooped down and grabbed it, not slowing her run. Good thing she did, for a large ice spider stood between her and the door.

It's beady blue eyes assessed her as she slowed, its mouth opening and closing in quick succession. She could see long sharp fangs each time the creature's mouth opened. It came for her, leaping into the air and crashing down in front of her. Arya swing the spear, but the creature ducked its head. She twisted out of reach as one of its legs came for her chest. With it off balance, trying to right it's heavy body, Arya swung the spear over her head and smashed it down upon the spider's head.

The creature let out a horrible screech, it's blazing blue eyes turning towards her. This time, when it swung for her it hit her arm. Arya went sprawling to the cold ground, the spear knocked from her hands. She could hear the spider charging towards her and she rolled out of its reach as its fanged mouth came down. Another screech.

Arya grabbed the spear and rolled onto her back just as the spider leapt into the air. She thrust the spear forward as the spider came down on top of her. The dragonglass point slid into its belly. Her arms shook at the weight of the spider, but she watched the light go out of its eyes, saw it grow still at the end of her spear.

She pushed the dead creature to the side and got to her feet. Her shirt was covered in black blood from the wound to the spider's belly. The stench made her gag into the snow, her eyes watering. She allowed herself only a moment to compose herself before she was back on her feet. With a mighty pull she released the spear from the spider's stomach and ran towards the gate.

Arya pulled the large door open and sprinted out into the open field. She did not get far before coming to an abrupt stop. Before her, between her and the Night King, was a large army of undead. Not all of them had made it into the castle. Many stood at attention, their eyes towards the sky. When Arya looked up at what they were watching she felt the air leave her body in a loud gasp.

War, it seemed, had made it to the heavens. The three dragons, and their riders, danced a deadly dance of survival. The Night King was outnumbered, but he seemed to have the upper hand. His dragon was quick, and it dodged several blows from the mighty Drogon. All three dragons were bleeding, their blood falling to the ground like rain.

Arya looked back down at her impossible task, getting through the army of undead. She watched as one of the riders, the Night King's man, slowly turned his head towards her. When he did, some of the undead followed him. She now had an audience and nowhere to go. Was this part of her sacrifice? Was she supposed to allow them to take her? Or would they kill her where she stood?

Hundreds of them moved towards her, their weapons raised to attack. Arya lowered the spear at her side, her eyes closing. She prayed this was the right decision. She prayed this wasn't a mistake. With her eyes closed, she could hear them approach, but she could hear something else as well.

The ground began to shake. Her eyes snapped open in surprise, and she turned to look behind her. A large black mass was heading towards them from the south. This made the undead stop, their blue eyes staring at what she was staring at. Seconds rolled by before she finally saw what was coming. Arya gasped, not believing it was real.

Thousands of wolves ran towards her at speeds so fast some of them were just fur. She turned her full attention to them, bracing herself for the impact. Would they attack her? She got her answer as the first line of the wolf army ran straight past her. She followed their blurry movements as they crashed straight into the undead army tearing them from head to toe.

Something came up behind her and she slowly turned to see what it was. She recognized those eyes instantly. "Nymeria," she whispered. As if to answer, Nymeria dropped her head, her large body dipping as low as she could go. Arya's eyes grew wide at her direwolf. Her heart pounded hard against her chest. Had the gods brought Nymeria to her to take her to her destination? All around her screams and pain could be heard. Some came from the wolves themselves, but most came from the mouths of the dead.

Arya scrambled up Nymeria's back, grabbing a large amount of the direwollf's long fur. They were together again, reunited as one. She had come when Arya had needed her the most. Her and her army of wolves. Arya held on for dear life as Nymeria bolted ahead. The wind ripped at her face, at her hair, as she flew past many of the undead. If one stepped into their path, Nymeria ran them over without stopping. Arya marveled at her strength, at the wondrous thing she had become. Nymeria had become a fighter, a queen warrior!

Her teeth bit into flesh and bones as her head jerked the undead from her path. She growled, her teeth bared at anything who dared come at her. She made quick work of the undead wolves. She made quick work of the undead men, women and children. All Arya had to do was to hold on, and hold on she did.

Nymeria's army cut a path from the open field, their mouths dining on flesh and bone. Arya and Nymeria did not slow, but kept going farther and farther away from Winterfell. Above her, she heard a shriek and looked up just in time to see Viserion and Rhaegal collide in a thunderous clap. Drogon breathed fire down upon its dead brother, but he moved out of the way taking Rhaegal with him.

Arya was almost right underneath them now. Just a little bit further. How she was going to reach the Night King, she did not know, but it would come to her when the chance arose. Suddenly, Viserion opened its large mouth and shot towards Rhaegal. It's black teeth sunk deep into its brother's neck causing him to scream an ear shattering scream. He clamped down hard. Rhaegal struggled to free himself, but Arya heard a loud grinding and then a pop. Rhaegal's eyes rolled into the back of its head and he went limp in Viserion mouth.

Arya screamed as Viserion released Rhaegal and the dragon fell towards the ground. Jon came into view, his body pressed tightly to his dragon. There was nowhere for him to go, no escape to be made. He had no choice but to ride the dead dragon to its final fall. Arya's eyes were solely on Jon. She did not see Drogon take advantage of Viserion's distraction. Drogon made the same move his dead brother had done only moments ago. His teeth sunk into the dragon's exposed neck and with one blow Viserion's head came clean off. The Night King fell towards the ground.

Rhaegal hit the hard snow with a resounding crash that shook the ground and caused Nymeria to slow. She desperately searched for Jon, but the snow was too thick where the dead dragon had landed. It threw the snow into the air like a thick fog.

"Go!" Arya screamed at Nymeria.

The direwolf bolted towards Rhaegal's body. Just then, another shake of the ground signaled Viserion's fate. The two dragons had fallen very close to one another. The Night King came from around the large dragon's body. In his hands he held a long spear like the one Arya had, yet this one was made of ice. He walked with a purpose, his eyes staring at something Arya could not see.

Arya willed Nymeria to run faster, a sudden dread filling her chest making it hard to breathe. She could now see past Rhaegal's dead body. A lone figure leaned against the dragon, his arm and leg twisted in an inhuman way. Blood poured from the side of his head. She could see a deep gash. Jon was in trouble.

Nymeria growled as she got closer, bringing the Night King's attention on them. Arya had only a moment to think, only a moment to prepare. The ice spear left the Night King's hand and straight towards them. Nymeria tried to dodge the weapon, but it embedded itself into her side. Arya felt as if the spear had gone through her own body, felt its icy tendrils climb up her spine.

Nymeria jerked forward, a howl of pain escaping her mouth. Even as death wrapped its fingers around the direwolf's throat it thought only of its rider, of its soulmate. Nymeria shielded Arya from getting hurt as she went down hard. Arya screamed, her wide-eyes searching Nymeria's as she climbed off the direwolf's back. Her eyes locked with Arya's for a moment, as if to say it was okay. It was as if she were saying that she had fulfilled her destiny to get Arya where she needed to be.

Arya fell against her direwolf, wrapping her arms around her large neck. She watched Nymeria's eyes slowly close for the last time. Arya had no time to mourn before she felt a cold hand grab her arm and throw her away from her dead direwolf.

Her shoulder smashed into the snow and she cried out in pain. When she looked up the Night King was standing before her. He stared down at her, unmoving. Minutes, maybe even hours, passed by them as they stared. She saw something pass in his blue eyes, something that looked a lot like fear. Yes, it was definitely fear.

Suddenly, his hand shot above his head, the ice spear shining in the moonlight. She could see Nymeria's blood dripping from the end. Arya held her breath, waiting for the final blow to drop upon her. She watched the tip come forward, as if in slow motion. The tip never made it to her. Something gleamed right in front of her face and the spear made a clashing impact. A sword.

Jon stood above her, his face a mask of rage. Blood poured down the side of his face hitting the snow beside Arya's head. The Night King jerked his spear back, aiming for Jon this time. Again, there was a clash of impact, ice meeting Valyrian steel. The impact drove Jon back in his weakened state, his body threatening to topple, but he righted himself just as another blow came.

On and on the Night King came at Jon, pushing him away from Arya. She jumped to her feet, grabbing the dragonglass spear in the snow. She ran towards them, aiming for the Night King's back, but he felt her coming. He dodged her attack. Jon struck from the front, but the Night King was ready. They found themselves in a dance of three. Arya would attack from the back. Jon would attack from the front, his battered body weakening with each swing. Above them, Daenerys could do nothing but watch. If Drogon attacked with fire, Arya and Jon would perish as well.

"The castle!" Jon screamed, his eyes never leaving the Night King.

Daenerys hesitated, not wanting to leave them just in case a moment presented itself, but she finally turned Drogon for Winterfell to rescue the others trapped inside the crypts. Arya and Jon were left alone with the Night King.

Jon was by far the weakest of the three, but he fought with all that he had left. Arya let her spear fly one blow after another, but the Night King was faster. Arya was tiring. Sweat poured from her face, her arms screaming in pain. Jon was not faring much better. He had fallen to his knees several times, his head shaking as if to wake himself from a dream.

The Night King's blow knocked Arya backwards and she fell. He turned his attention solely on Jon. Arya slowly sat up, her entire body screaming at her to stay down. She felt pain everywhere. Her vision blurred as she looked ahead of her and watched the Night King stalk towards Jon. He was on his knees as well, his chest heaving. Too much blood. He had lost so much blood. It pooled around him as he tried to force himself to stand.

Suddenly, his eyes raised to hers. They stared at one another as everything around them melted away. For that one moment in time it was just Arya and her Jon. His eyes pleaded with her to understand, to keep fighting. Arya felt a coldness descend upon her, felt her lungs tighten and her heart jump in her swollen throat.

"Jon!" Arya screamed, as he lowered his sword.

The Night King shoved the spear into Jon's stomach. The scream that tore from Arya's mouth would haunt her long into the night, long into her years.

Jon's body jerked, his eyes never leaving hers. They held so much love, so much comfort, as he began to stand to his feet. He moved his dark eyes to the Night King, his teeth bared. One. Two. Three steps. Jon moved towards the Night King, embedding the ice spear deeper into his stomach until the end came out of the other side of him. His arms wrapped around the Night King, holding him as tightly as he could.

"N—now," he whispered.

A large group of ravens flew from the sky encasing them within their feathers. The Night King was momentarily blind as he struggled to get free.

 _Arya, it's time,_ a voice said somewhere in the darkness.

Something picked her up from the ground, placing the spear in her hand. She could barely see from the unshed tears in her way, but she could see the ravens move and expose the back of the Night King. Arya felt a rage so strong it almost choked her, and she ran towards his back. She shoved the dragonglass spear into his back, a furious scream erupting from the Night King's mouth.

Over and over Arya stabbed him. She unleashed her fury upon his back as many times as she could. When she did not feel satisfied, she threw the spear to the ground and grabbed her dagger. She twisted around his neck and began to cut away. As she did, she screamed. As she felt his head being removed by the dragonglass she cried with such fury she became hoarse.

The Night King's head came completely off and she dropped it at her feet. His body fell to the ground, and she watched as it burned blue before becoming nothing but bone. Lying in the middle of the bones was the dragonglass that had made him what he was. Jon fell to the ground, the spear pulled out of his stomach by the Night King's fall.

Arya rushed to his side, her hand grabbing for his wound. His skin already grew cold. His mouth hung open slightly. She could hear the rush of his breaths coming fast. His eyes slid onto her face and he calmed.

"Jon," Arya cried, his head cradled in her lap.

What had happened? This was not the way it was supposed to go. Bran had said Jon would sit the Iron Throne. He had said he would live. Why was he dying in her lap? Had she hit her head and was stuck in some horrible nightmare?

"Look at me," Jon whispered.

Arya had not realized she closed her eyes. She opened them and met his stare. Slowly, he reached his hand up to her cheek, his fingers as cold as ice. They touched her skin as softly as if she were made of glass… as softly as a kiss.

"T—this was the w—way it had to b—be," he said.

No! No, this was not the way. "Tell me what to do," she begged. "Tell me how to save you!"

His hands left her cheek and reached for something at his side. She felt something cold and solid touch her hand. When she looked down, she began to shake. Her head moved from side to side, her eyes bulging from their sockets.

"No!" She yelled at him.

He had laid the dragonglass in her hand.

"I—it's my d—destiny. I can e—end this now," he whispered.

"I can't," she cried, hoarsely.

He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing. "You can. It was a—always meant to be y—you. I can l—lead them h—home."

"Don't leave me," Arya begged, laying forehead on top of the dragonglass.

"I—I'll always… always be with y—you. There—there's not m—much time."

"Somebody help me!" She screamed, looking up and around at the carnage.

Something was happening to the undead army. It had been thought that if they killed the Night King it would kill the ones he made. It had happened when they killed a Wright. Instead, the undead seemed more out of control. They screamed and clawed at the ground, at anything that came close to them, including their own. She could hear screams from the castle, even as Drogon fired from above them.

"L—look at me, Arya," Jon said, grabbing her attention. Her hand was saturated in his blood. With every breath he took his blood pooled out. He had only moments. His shaking hand opened her palm and laid the dragonglass against her skin.

"O—only you, m—my Arya. Please…". His face crumbled. Tears streamed down his face mixing into his blood. "I—it's the only way. H—help me, my l—love."

Arya knew it was the only way, although she fought against the idea with all her strength. If she plunged the dragonglass into Jon's heart it would sentence him to something much worse than death. His face looked at her with so much trust, with so much love.

"I—I need you," he whispered, his lips trembling.

Her hand tightened around the dragonglass. She wanted to take that look from his face, for it murdered her very soul.

 _Will it hurt?_

 _Yes. It will be the most painful choice you have ever had to make. But, you'll make it for him. To save him._

Arya raised the dragonglass above her head, her body shaking as she sobbed. She hesitated, her eyes meeting his again. She heard something running for them, knew it was the undead.

"I—I love you," he whispered.

With a loud sob of pain breaking through her lips she thrusted the dragonglass as hard as she could into Jon's chest. She heard him gasp over her wails, but she could not stop. She forced the dragonglass through flesh and bone, until it pierced his very heart.

Jon's body jerked, his eyes growing wide as his mouth hung open in a silent scream. Arya looked down at his chest. The hole where the dragonglass went in slid closed. His skin began to change, growing white and solid like ice. She followed it up towards his face and watched as his dark eyes turned blue. His dark hair disappeared and in its place he wore a crown of ice.

The undead, which had almost reached them, came to a sudden stop. Their bodies frozen to the very place at which they stood. The screams stopped, giving way to an even louder silence.

Those blue eyes looked straight at Arya, and for the first time in her life she feared Jon Snow. A thought crossed her mind in that moment. He was no longer Jon. He was no longer hers. She had sentenced him to a fate worse than death. She slowly backed away from him on her knees, her sobs ringing louder.

He slowly sat up, his eyes never leaving hers. She reached for him, begging every god she could think of to let Jon still be in there. Somehow, she hoped beyond hope that he would recognize her. Her hand shook as she begged him to take it. Instead, he stood to his feet.

Her eyes grew wide, her shaking growing worse. She thrust her hand out further, her tearfilled eyes begging him to take it. He stared at her with a stranger's eyes, not one single emotion within his icy face. He looked upon her as if she were a mere face passing him in the night.

"Please," she whispered, begging.

He slowly turned from her, walking away. Her sobs grew louder, for she was helpless to stop him. Jon Snow had died, and in his place the Night King was born. He knew her no more.

All around her the undead moved as one. They walked passed her not paying her any attention. It was if she were a stone. Some walked around her, but they never laid one hand upon her head. A large direwolf passed her, the wound at her side still visible.

"Nymeria," she cried.

The direwolf kept walking as if she had not said a word. She watched her walk towards Jon. He climbed atop her, his army at his back. At the sight of Jon and Nymeria leaving her, Arya scrambled to her feet to chase after them. She pushed the undead from her path, her fears rising with every second.

"Jon," she screamed.

He stopped, his head turning slightly towards her. She watched him, holding her breathe. He gave her one motion, so short she would have missed it if she had not been so attuned to him. A slow, small shake of his head was the final nail in Arya's soul. He turned back, with his army at his back, the new Night King led them away from Winterfell.

Arya fell to her knees, the cold snow not even becoming a dot in her mind. She sobbed openly, harder than she had ever sobbed for her father. Harder than she had ever sobbed for her mother, Robb or Rickon. She sobbed against the quiet night as the dead walked past her. Arya ceased to exist in that moment. She cease to feel anything but the pain and the anguish. Her very soul shattered under the watchful eye of the moon.

It felt like years that she kneeled in the snow looking at an empty space, looking into the darkness. Jon was gone, never to hold her again.

Even as the darkening minutes rolled passed she believed he would come back for her. She believed he would not leave her to this life without him in it. He would not be so cruel. She begged the gods to bring him back. She would even let him go for good, would let him go with Daenerys and their unborn child never to utter another word to him if only they would bring him back. But, as the moon slowly gave way to the sun it became clear to Arya that he was gone… that she had been betrayed.

Arya slowly turned her swollen eyes towards Winterfell, it's walls still burning. She felt a burning within her as well. It grew like a large flame from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. Rage replaced her anguish. Furious anger licked at her ravaged mind. She turned completely in the snow, her hands squeezing the dragonglass dagger so tightly she felt it cut her hand.

She stood to her freet, walking slowly, until she broke into a run. There was only one person she wanted to see… and he better had hoped the undead had reached him first.

Her crazed mind whispered a name over and over.

Bran. Bran. Bran.


	26. Chapter 26

Arya picked her way through the ruined gates of Winterfell. Her lips pulled back as she bared her teeth in rage. The wooden splinters and rocks cut her hands, but she could not feel anything but the rage.

"BRAN!" she screamed.

She finally made it into Winterfell and came to a dead stop. Silence fell all around her as she slowly turned in every direction. She saw many patches of red upon the white snow, but there were no bodies. The spots of blood and the broken walls of Winterfell were all that was left of the great battle. Human and undead bodies had vanished.

Arya looked out beyond the lands surrounding her home, over to where the sun climbed in the red-blood sky. There was nothing left. Only the blood patches. This knowledge sent a chill straight through her. She pushed the thought from her mind and ran towards the crypts.

There was no one in the crypts as she searched all the shadows and passageways she could think to look. Where had they gone? Had everyone died and joined Jon? This thought sent another chill up Arya's spine. Was she the last?

Shaking her head, she stormed from the crypts towards the Great Hall. When she got closer she could hear voices coming from within. Her rage grew the closer she came to those voices, for there was no doubt Bran would be in there.

She threw the Great Hall doors opened and stepped inside. Everyone turned towards her. Arya took in the scene before her, made contact with every pair of eyes. Some faces she knew. Others she did not. When she looked at Daenerys, the woman took a step forward, her eyes hopeful. Arya did not have enough time to explain to her Jon was gone when a voice called out to her.

"I am here."

Time stood still for Arya in the moments it took her to find his face. Bran sat beside the fire surrounded by Jamie Lannister, Tyrion Lannister and Samwell Tarly. Jamie was crying. Tyrion was in shock. Samwell looked upon her with haunted eyes. Arya saw none of this, for her eyes were only on one person.

She stormed into the room, daring anyone to get in her way, but as she passed no one dared tried to stop her. She limped towards Bran, blood pouring down her face, and as she came near him her hand came up and she slapped him as hard as she could. His head jerked to the side, a gasp of surprise bouncing all around her.

"You bastard!" she whispered.

Bran turned slowly back towards her, his face void of any emotion. Arya felt nothing but rage, felt nothing but hate, and she wanted him to suffer. She grabbed the Valyrian dagger and raised it above her head. Several things happened at once. There were screams. There was the weight of the dagger in her hand. There was the sudden movement of Bran reaching out and grabbing her free arm. The Great Hall disappeared.

Arya sucked in a breath, her vision blurring. Suddenly, she was blinded by the purest light she had ever seen. She threw her hands up to shield her eyes and noticed the dagger was gone.

"I need to show you something." Arya turned around, a gasp of surprise leaving her lips. Bran was there with her… standing.

"What did you do to me?" she cried, scared.

"I am allowing you to see what I see as the Three Eyed Raven. I owe you that much. Once you see what I have seen, and you still want to plunge the dagger into my chest, I will not stop you.

"How are you doing this!" Arya said, looking around at the bright light.

"You are a warg, though you have not really delved into what that means. You have had wolf dreams? You have warged into Nymeria before. You have the gift of our ancestors."

"Let me out!" She screamed, her fear growing.

"Not until you see," Bran responded.

Suddenly, the light came into focus, and Arya saw she was standing before a large forge. It was night time, and all around her the snow fell in massive flakes. She was surrounded by the undead army, yet this was not something that had just taken place. She did not recognize the forge as being one of Winterfell's. This place was different, foreign.

"Go inside," Bran said.

Arya's feet moved at his urging and she walked inside the forge. There was something moving on the floor, something that looked an awful lot like a Wright. She noticed the crown of ice upon his head and let out a soft moan. He had a long, white beard, and his blue eyes looked at two people standing over him. His hand reached for the man, but he stepped out of his way.

"I know what it is that I ask of you, my love. But, it is the only way. It will only work this way, for I have tried it many times and have failed."

"No!" A woman cried, wrapping her arms around the man.

Arya took a step towards the couple, her mouth hanging slightly opened. The man wrapped the woman in his strong arms, kissing the top of her head. She could see the tears in the man's eye. He shushed the woman's cries, but this seemed to make her cry harder.

"Death is at our door, my love. I can end this. I can save us all. It is my destiny, as it is yours."

"I can't!" The woman screamed against his chest. "I cannot lose you!"

"You will never lose me."

Arya watched the thing on the floor grab a hold of the man's leg. The man never responded, never let the woman go. Outside the forge, the undead began to wail and scream against the night. Arya covered her ears, their screams cutting her like glass.

The man picked something up from the anvil, and Arya felt the air in her lungs deflate. The man pushed the woman back, until she looked up at him. Her fearful eyes stared at him as her soft cries filled the forge. He laid the end of the dragonglass in her hand and pointed the sharp end at his chest.

"Do you love me?" He whispered.

"With all of my heart," the woman whispered back.

"Then, I will never leave you, my love. You can end this Long Night. I will take them back to their home and you will be safe. That is all that I want… please!" The man begged.

The woman tried to release the dragonglass, but he held her hand firmly on it. Arya saw the woman's eyes, saw she knew there was no other way. She saw the turmoil within her, and knew exactly how she felt. Arya knew what was asked of the woman and the heavy price it cost.

"I am dying, my love. I feel my soul leaving my body. I want you to do this for me. It's okay! This is what I want," he whispered. Arya noticed a large wound in his side. She watched his blood flow from his side down towards the ground. She noticed for the first time how he leaned heavily upon the anvil. His handsome face had paled even in the few moments she watched them.

"Take me with you," the woman begged.

"No!" he answered, harshly. He closed his eyes and breathed in a long breath before speaking again. "I want you to live. I want you to raise our babies and love them every single day. I give my life for you… for them."

The woman's hand shook against the dragonglass. Arya took another step, but Bran stopped her. He gently grabbed her arm and held her in place.

"You cannot help them, Arya. You are only here to watch."

The man kissed the woman, long and slow. With every touch their lips made he moved closer and closer to her. He gasped as the dragonglass cut into his chest, but he did not stop kissing the woman. She moved as well, moved so close to him until their bodies were molded as one. She moved towards him until her chest was against his. The dragonglass has disappeared inside him and pierced his heart.

Arya covered her mouth, swallowed the scream begging to come out, as she watched the man turn as Jon did. The undead thing on the floor let go of the man's leg and fell dead. The woman took a step back, her cries floating all around the forge. Her eyes were wide and haunted as she watched the man turn into the Night King right in front of her. Arya felt a sudden deja vu, for she had seen this before.

Just as Arya had done, she reached for the man, but he was already turned to leave. He left her screaming for him to come back to her. He left her screaming for him to forgive her. The man did not act as though he even heard her. By the time he made it to the door his transformation was complete. He stopped, his head slowly looking in Arya's direction. She took a step back, her eyes growing wide. She knew his face, had fought him only moments ago. This was his story… his origin.

His face began to fade, as did the forge around them, until they were standing back inside the bright light. Arya felt a cold creep upon her, felt as if she had never known the warmth of the sun.

"We were wrong about the legend. It was a lie passed down from one generation to the next, until it found its way to our generation. But, it had been wrong," Bran said, softly.

"Who was that," Arya whispered.

"Azor Ahai never plunged a sword in his wife Nissa Nissa's chest. It is true, they chose him as their Hero, to rid the world of the Long Night and the army of the Undead, but the legend was a lie."

"What?" Arya said with a gasp.

"I only realized the truth recently. The real story was that Azor Ahai made two swords that failed him. It was only in his third attempt that the truth made itself known. He needed to forge dragonglass. The sacrifice was not his wife's to make, but himself to make. Nissa Nissa was the true Hero, who saved her people from the Long Night. Lightbringer became the love between them that made it possible for her to do what needed to be done. Azor Ahai became the Night King and lead the army back to their home. That was the real story, what you just witnessed. The Night King that you and Jon defeated was the true Azor Ahai."

Arya fell to her knees at his admission. She had grown up with the story of Azor Ahai. To see the truth played out in front of her was devastating. It was a story so much like her own. Tears fell from her eyes at the gravity of the truth.

"A new sacrifice was needed, a new hero born. You became the Hero we needed to get us through the Long Night. The love between you and Jon created Lightbringer. Jon's sacrifice saved us all, as it did so many years before with Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa. History repeats its tragedy."

"Let me out of this," Arya cried, her hands shielding her eyes.

"There is more, sister," Bran said.

When Arya looked again she found herself in a familiar place. She jumped to her feet, grabbing for Needle, but she was not armed. Arya found herself in King's Landing standing before the Iron Throne.

"Why am I here?" She asked, angry.

"Look upon the Iron Throne, Arya."

She turned her head towards the tall figure sitting atop the Iron Throne. His hair was as black as night. His beard was shaved close to his strong and chiseled jaw. His chest was broad, his arms strong. This was a King to be feared… and to love. People came and went, paying homage to this king. He spoke to them with kindness and love, with a strong voice.

Arya took a few steps closer to get a better look at him. What she saw made her heart squeeze in her chest, had the tears blurring her vision again. He looked so much like Jon that it took her breath away. Even his voice sounded like Jon. Everything was familiar except his eyes. Those lavender eyes belonged to his mother… Daenerys.

"You said Jon would sit the Iron Throne," Arya whispered.

"His name is Jon Targaryen, the First of His Name. Jon Snow's real name was Aegon Targaryen. The man you see before you is Jon's son. He will bring about a peace that which has never been seen in Westeros before. He will be a good and just King. The people will love him, and he will be known as Jon the Loved. This is what your sacrifice bought."

"You lied to me," Arya said, slowly turning towards Bran.

"I never lied," he said, low. He was standing right beside her, and in that moment Arya found it odd he was standing at all.

"You twisted the truth, withheld things from me," she said accusingly.

"I did what I had to do to see us through," he answered, right before the bright light was back.

Arya did not fear the light anymore, but waited for what was to come. What else was there to show her? She had her answers, but it did not change a thing. Jon was gone and he was never coming back. Bran had had a hand in that.

Arya felt a chill creep it's way down her spine, feeling her blood grow cold. The moment the bright light gave up its secret she felt as if something had punched her in the chest.

Snow, as far as the eye could see, surrounded her. The wind blew her back and forth, her hair whipping in her face. Something told her that if she were actually in this place she would freeze to death in seconds. Before her was a large cloud of snow swirling around. She was about to ask where they were when the cloud departed and Arya saw a lone figure sitting before her. Her eyes grew wide. Her heart plunged to her feet. She felt a pain shoot through her chest, felt it pierce her heart many many times.

"Jon?" Arya croaked.

He sat upon a throne made of ice, very similar to how his son was sitting on the Iron Throne moments ago. As she watched, the undead paid homage to their new king. Arya could not believe how similar it looked to what her people do for their king. Did the undead know what respect was? Did they know what love was? All of them had been human at one time. Did they have memories, some long forgotten feeling of what it was like to love and know companionship? Nymeria sat at Jon's feet, her head held high as the mass of undead passed their king.

"They need him," Bran said, low. "Without a leader they are doomed. He has control of them all now. He will teach them to respect us as we will learn to respect them. A pact will form between us and them, which we all will honor, and by doing so we all will live. Jon will give that to us. His sacrifice will not be in vain, Arya."

Jon's head turned towards her. His blue eyes stared straight into her own eyes, as if he could see to her very soul. Did he know she was there? If she called his name would he respond? Arya ached to touch him, to hear him say he loved her just one more time. She willed him to call to her, willed him to come for her, but he only stared.

"Can he see me?" She asked.

"Perhaps," Bran answered, low.

She tried to take a step, but noticed that same jerk of Jon's head from earlier. It was as if he was telling her no. Her face crumbled as his blue eyes watched her. She saw no emotion, no love in them. That hurt her the most.

"Get me out of here," she whispered, her body shaking.

She could not stand to see Jon in this form. She could not stand to come face to face with what she had done. Her mind was too fractured to understand what Bran was saying to her. She only knew her pain and loss. She only knew she had betrayed Jon.

"Arya…"

"Now!" She screamed.

Suddenly, Arya was back in the Great Hall. Everyone stared at her with wide eyes. She could hear sobs all around her, and when she turned to look at Daenerys she saw her sobbing openly. Missandei held her, rocking her back and forth. They all may not have seen what she saw, but they heard every word that had passed between her and Bran. They knew Jon was dead, turned into the Night King by her own hand.

"You should have told me everything," Arya said, turning back towards Bran, who was sitting in his chair again.

"Would you have done what was needed?" He asked.

"I would have… would have… no," she said, her voice cracking.

Sobs rose all around her. It suffocated her, breaking her very soul. She turned to leave, wanting nothing but to escape those sobs, but before she did she needed to ask one last question.

"Is… is my brother still in there somewhere? Did Bran have a hand in this?"

"What is left of Brandon Stark has faded. He no longer exist as you knew him."

"Good," Arya whispered, her angered eyes looking into the face of her brother. "If I ever see your face again I won't feel guilty when I slice it off and wear it as my own. This is your only warning, Raven," she said, her voice like ice.

She did not wait for him to answer, but went towards the door. Arya stopped, her face staring ahead. She could not look at Daenerys, not directly. She could not see her tears. Her sobs were enough.

"I'm so sorry," she said, walking the rest of the way out of the Great Hall.


	27. Chapter 27

Arya ran out into the courtyard, her breath coming out in small pants. She wanted to march herself right back into the Great Hall and kill the Three Eyed Raven. Her blood called for his death. Her mind begged her. She slammed her eyes closed, her tears freezing her cheeks. Her body shook with something more than just the bitter cold.

When she opened her eyes she looked down at her shaking hands. They were stained with Jon's blood, a testament to what she had done. She rubbed them together, slowly at first, but when the blood did not disappear she began to rub them faster. The flesh was stained a bright red and it tortured her.

She fell to her knees, thrusting her hands into the white snow. Again, she scrubbed them together, scrubbed them into the snow. The skin of her hands burned, yet she felt nothing but cold. There was a sound building around her, sounding much like a hurt animal. It grew and grew until it shattered the morning's silence. Arya realized the sound was coming from her own mouth. She was sobbing and screaming hoarsely.

Using the melted snow she was able to get his blood off… but not all of it. She rubbed so hard and so long her own blood began to mix with his. Arya slowly leaned forward, her forehead touching the snow. Her mouth hung open in a hauntingly silent scream.

She had to get away from Winterfell, away from the place she had lost him. She scrambled to her feet and ran towards the crypts. Down into the darkened earth, she ran as fast as she could. She ran from what she had done. She ran from what Bran had done. Her sobs echoed around her touching every statue of her family. Their stoned eyes watched her shoot past them.

She pushed open a large door, the sun shining through the crypts, and right where Jon had promised stood a horse. Arya ran to it, untying it from the tree, and jumping on its back.

"Go!" She cried.

The horse followed its master's orders and shot away from the Godswood like an arrow from a bow. When she made it to the clearing of Winterfell's grounds she hitched the reigns faster. If anyone would have seen her ride they would have thought she was fleeing for her life. In a way, she was.

Arya drove her horse forward, not knowing where she was going, but knew she had to get away from Winterfell as fast as possible. She rode all day, watching the sun make its normal moves across the sky. She rode until the moon returned again, rode until her legs begged her for relief. She found a small inn, but without any money she knew she could not get a room.

As if some fate heard her thoughts, something hit her leg and she looked down. A brown sack was hooked to her seat, dangling down the horse's side. She had not noticed it in her haste to leave Winterfell. Arya brought the horse to a stop and grabbed the bag. When she opened it she gasped. The bag was filled with gold coins, and many of them at that. Her trembling hand reached inside to feel them. They were real and not just a trick of the imagination. There was also something else. She felt something poke her skin and she jerked her hand away. When she peered inside again, she noticed a white piece of parchment.

She took the paper out and opened it. She could not read the words with what little light she had, but she recognized the handwriting. It was from Jon. She stared at his writing, her heart hammering against her chest. It was all she had left of him.

She raced towards the inn, paying the owner for one night's sleep and hurried to take care of her horse. Once that was done, she hurried towards her room and sat on the bed. With shaking hands she opened the parchment and read each word slowly, until her vision blurred with tears. Then, she read them again.

 _Dear Arya,_

 _I have sat here and stared at a blank piece of paper trying to find the right words for you. I know that you will find this and when you do I know the truth will be revealed to you. You and I have just had our talk about Daenerys' pregnancy. But, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about, but I knew I couldn't. I will choose to marry Daenerys, but my heart will always belong with you, my Arya. Even as it turns to ice it will always be yours. Bran told me what I must do, and I'm willing to do it, but it's tearing me apart. Not for myself, but for you. He told me what you have to do. I know you. Do not believe for one second this is your fault. I would take a thousand dragonglass in my chest to protect you. Know that I chose this path, Arya. I wanted this, but I never wanted to be separated from you. I'm scared, you're the only one I'll admit that too, but it's true. I don't know how, but I know I'll carry you in my heart. I WILL know you! The one who has my heart and always will. I love you. I wasted too much time not telling you those words over and over, but I'm begging you now to remember my love and to believe it. You will go with me in whatever paths we choose. I told you once and I will tell you again… different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. We have always found our way back to one another, and somehow, someway, we will do it again. My blood may turn cold. My heart may be as ice, but that will never change my love for you. Until that day, live Arya. Live for me. Be happy with Gendry. I can admit he is a good man, and I know he will take care of you. For me, allow him to take care of you. The money is yours, Arya. Choose your road. Choose your path. You will always be with me every step I take._

 _Love, Jon_

Arya read his words over and over until she fell fast asleep, the letter in her hand. Even now, Jon still took care of her. She had money to eat and get to wherever she was going. She just didn't know where that was yet.

The next morning she left with the sun, riding her horse hard through the cold air. For several weeks she followed the same path. She rode all day and slept at inns at night. She read Jon's words until the tears had run dry and she fell asleep. She could not escape the memory of what happened. She could not shake the feeling of such loss that choked her. She was still too close to the memory, to the nightmare. Even as a voice whispered in her mind to go to Gendry, to let him take her pain away, she knew she could not.

It was for this reason she found herself in White Harbor looking upon a large ship. A man had told her the ship was bound for Essos across the Narrow Sea. Anywhere was better than Westeros. She paid her fair and climbed aboard. She stood in the middle of the ship, a long ago memory flooding her mind. She had run before, to Braavos. She had wanted to run to Jon, but her road had not taken her to him yet. Would it take her to him this time?

She closed her eyes, breathing a long deep breath. Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Westeros was behind her, and she slowly turned to look at her home. She felt a pain grow deep within her, a pain that almost knocked her to her knees. Yes, she was running again.

"We are ready, Miss," the captain said.

Arya stared at the shoreline, even as it grew smaller and smaller in her vision. Even as the ocean swallowed the shoreline she stared. A piece of her broke in that moment, the piece that cared about what happened to her. Jon wanted her to live, but did she not die right along with him that day? When she took his life she took her own. Gendry was better off without her. He deserved better. She deserved nothing.

Another few weeks passed as she became accustomed to the swaying of the ship. She went out of her cabin less and less, until finally she did not go out at all. There was no sun bright enough that she wanted to see, no moon gorgeous enough to steal her breath. She needed only a bed and the ceiling above her as she replayed his eyes turning to blue over and over.

On the day she reached Essos, the captain bid her a farewell, but she did not respond. She passed him like some spirits pass the human world, unknowing. She walked the bright roads of Essos not really seeing much. She heard the voices and laughter, but they were just echoes. There were several inns to stay, but she did not come here for comfort. Arya realized half way to Essos what she really came here to do. She came her to die.

The alley she picked was quiet and dark, perfect for her raging mind. Arya slumped against the wall and slowly sat down in something wet. It's stench did not bother her. Yes, this was a good place to die, she thought.

So, why was it that when two men found her days later and tried to rape her she gutted them both with her dagger? Why was it that when someone threw a half eaten piece of bread out the window beside her she scarfed it down? Why did she drink the dirty water in the alley when she felt her throat was on fire? If she really wanted to die… why didn't she? She knew why… she was craven and couldn't do the job herself.

Arya had no concept of time, or how many days had passed since she reached Essos, but by the rotting corpses beside her it had been a while. She had promised herself the next person who came along she would not put up much of a fight. They could do with her what they wanted, but she prayed they would kill her in the end.

For this reason, she did not give the person standing over her a second glance. She stared at their shoes, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. It had been days since she last ate or drank anything. The dirty water had made her sick and she did not drink it again. She was too weak to fight the person when they bent down and picked her up. They threw her over their large shoulders and walked out of the alley. It was night, and very few people were out and about.

Her captor sat her against something sturdy and disappeared. She heard laughter and music from somewhere to her left, and could smell the aroma of baked bread and mead. Her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl.

She was back in the arms of her captor, but this time he cradled her against his chest. She felt the warmth of a fire as they passed through a softly lit room. She kept her eyes closed, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Someone had paid for a room, and she knew it was only for one reason. Again, she hoped they would kill her afterwards. She wouldn't stop them this time. He laid her on a soft bed. She raised her swollen eyes to look at him, but she only saw his outline. He was big.

"K—Kill me," she whispered. The man turned and left the room without a response, slamming the door behind him.

She was in and out of consciousness, but was vaguely aware of being fed something that tasted an awful lot like broth. She remembered the first taste, and how her shaking hands had grabbed for the bowl. Her mind may have wanted to die, but her body did not. Whoever this man was, she realized he had not tried to rape her. He had not tried to kill her. She both thanked him and hated him all at once.

Arya awoke from her dreamless sleep with the sun shining through a large window directly on her. She felt it's heat radiating within her and she cursed the sun. She wanted to go back to feeling nothing, but for the first time in a long time she felt every ache and pain. She felt the shallow place in her chest where her heart used to be and she cursed the man who had brought her here and awoken her.

She slowly sat up, the room spinning for several minutes. Beside her was her dagger, Needle and Jon's bag of money. She reached for the bag and felt inside. She sighed, feeling the parchment was safe. She stood on weak legs, grabbing for the wall to keep her upright. The room spun faster. She held the wall until everything righted itself, then she felt her anger boil over. The man had not killed her, so maybe she would kill him. She grabbed her dagger and walked slowly out of the room.

By the time she came into the small living room she felt a bit stronger. The man knelt before a raging fire, shadows hiding most of his body. She crept towards him, her weakness returning, and she had to grab the back of a worn chair. She closed her eyes as a dizzy spell hit her causing her stomach to flip and threaten to spill its contents. It made her more angry.

"Put the dagger down before you cut yourself. You can't even harm a fly in your state right now," the man said, causing Arya to gasp. She knew that voice well.

The man stood up to his full height and turned to meet her wide eyes with his own angry eyes. What was he doing here? Arya felt a sudden urge to run. She glanced at the door and back at the man. He turned his face slowly towards the door and chuckled.

"You wouldn't get ten feet before I dragged you back in here. Look at ya! You look like death and smell even worse. I thought you were a warrior, and then I find you slummin it on the streets. You're nothing but a craven," he sneered.

Arya was surprised that his words hurt, and again she realized he was awakening her from her numbness. She cursed him over and over, hate bleeding into the numbness.

"Leave," she said, hoarse.

He chuckled again, turning back to the fire to stroke it. He was not afraid of her. She must have been in a horrible state for him not to fear her with the dagger in her hand.

"Go ahead and stab me in the back. You have already done that to just about everyone who loves you," he said, low.

She winced at his words, her eyes stinging with tears. "Shut up!" She whispered. She would not listen to anything he had to say, especially if it caused this reaction.

"I'll talk and say what I want, girl. You'll listen like ya are now. I'm here to keep a roof over your head and food and mead in your stomach. You wanna scream and break the place apart that's your decision. Whatever you choose to do after that is on you, but I'll see to it that you're alive. You don't like it, you know what to do."

He slowly turned back towards her, his eyes meeting her own. She felt her rage surge, felt the weight of the dagger in her hand. She wanted him to go away, wanted him to stop making her feel even anger. Anger was a human emotion, which would lead to other emotions like loss. She missed the sweet feeling of nothingness.

"Get out… last warning," she said, low and deadly.

The man took his coat off, turning fully towards her. She watched him raise his arms to his side, his eyes staring at the dagger.

"Give it your best try, but you finish the job this time, because if you don't it will be my turn," he said.

Arya lunged towards him, all her anger and pain at the center of her mind. She wanted someone, anyone, to feel what she felt. If he wanted to die she would gladly show him the way to Death. He dodged her first attempt, which was nothing more than a slow slash towards him. She had no strength, but she did not care. Maybe he would kill her if she made him angry enough. When she slashed at him again he grabbed her wrist, twisting it, and causing her to cry out in pain. She dropped the dagger as he pushed her roughly away from him. Arya hit the worn chair and fell in a heap on the ground. She moaned in pain.

"My turn," the man said low, grabbing her. He picked her up, pinning her arms down and walked out of the room. She began to fight him, her heart hammering in her chest. Arya felt surprised again to feel herself fight. Did she want to live?

He kicked the door from their way and entered a small room. Arya had only a moment to prepare herself before she was thrown forward. She heard a splash before she went completely under hot water. The shock was enough to wake her fully. Gone was the numbness in her head. Gone was the feeling of nothingness.

Arya came up sputtering and screaming in anger and surprise. "Bastard!" She screamed.

"You stink."

The man knelt down beside her, his face inches from her own. She spit on him. He jerked back just a little, but not enough to move away from her. She had seen his angered eyes before. She knew what he was capable of.

"Want to know why I was sent and not your precious Gendry?" He asked, quietly. She stilled at that name, her heart squeezing in her chest. "Because you would completely break him, and he would let you. But me? I'm ready for a fight, and I'll fight you and every last person in Essos to get back home to your sister. I wasn't sure you were even able to be saved, but I see that hate in your eyes. You're still in there, and when you're ready to stop being so fucking selfish then maybe we can go home."

Arya followed him with her angered eyes as he slowly stood and walked from the room. Sandor Clegane had come here to bring her home, and she believed every word he said. She could not go home, not back to where she lost Jon. Again, she cursed Sandor. Arya Stark was waking up and pain awaited her. She felt a deep biting fear creep into her blood.


	28. Chapter 28

Arya walked back to her room dripping wet. She had stayed in the water until it turned ice cold. Now, her body shook, her teeth chattering together, as she climbed into her bed. Sandor had come here to save her, but he would learn quickly there was nothing to save.

Her sheets soaked in seconds, but she did not care. She grabbed the wool blanket and threw it over her head, allowing the small darkness to take her under. If she had been looking at the door she would have seen Sandor standing there, a look of worry upon his face. He watched her for a while before turning slowly and walking back into the small living room.

In her dream Arya lay upon a bed of grass. Above her the sun shone brightly amongst the warm day. She was laying on her side and inches away from her lay Jon. He was the way he should be. Dark hair. Dark eyes. No trace of the Night King. He stared at her, a sad smile upon his lips. His hand slowly moved to her face, his fingers skimming across her smooth cheek with a feathered touch. She dared not close her eyes for fear that he would disappear. She was not sure how long the dream lasted. No words were spoken between them. Only a look of love was needed.

Arya slowly opened her eyes when the woolen blanket was pulled away from her. She did not turn to meet Sandor's stare, but she knew he was standing over her. She could feel him. She wanted to scream at him for taking her away from the dream, but she did not have the strength. Why could she not just be left alone?

"You need to eat," he said.

She did not respond. She was not hungry. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and see Jon again, but Sandor stood in her way. After several minutes of her not responding he grabbed her and jerked her out of bed. She did not fight him as he drug her into the small living room and towards a table. He sat her down in front of a bowl that looked to be filled with some sort of dark broth. Warm bread sat before her as well with a cup of mead. She stared at the food, as if she did not know what it was.

"I told you I was here to make sure you ate. Now, you can feed yourself or I'll do it for you," he said, his voice not unkind.

Arya stared at the bowl, her anger rising again. She raised her eyes to his, pouring every ounce of hate she could find towards him. Sandor did not respond, but kept on staring at her with unwavering eyes. She reached for the bowl, hesitating for just a moment, before picking it up and throwing it across the room. The bowl slammed against the wall and shattered, the broth running down the grey wall.

"Fuck eating," she whispered. "Fuck you."

She never looked away from him. Even as she threw the bowl, even as she cursed him, her eyes stayed in place. Sandor nodded his head once, picking up his own bowl and rising from his chair. Arya followed him as he stood right beside her. The next thing she knew Sandor grabbed her face and squeezed. She fought against his hold, but he was so much stronger than her at this point.

As they fought, Arya pushed her chair away from the table, which did nothing but give Sandor the edge. He moved in front of her and pinned her arms down with his body. With his free hand he grabbed the bowl and held it up to Arya's mouth. She had no choice but to swallow the broth before it choked her, which some still did. She coughed and spewed some of it onto her and Sandor both. He would stop only when this happened, but when she regained herself he would continue to pour the broth down her mouth, until she had consumed it all.

Both Arya and Sandor breathed heavily, their angered eyes boring into the other. The broth covered the front of Arya's shirt, but she paid the cold mess no mind. Her only thought was to make Sandor bleed.

Sandor sat back down in his chair, grabbing a piece of warm bread and stuffing it into his mouth. "Like I said, you can feed yourself or I'll do it for you."

"Go to hell," Arya whispered.

"I'm there, girl. The moment I walked into this nightmare you've built for yourself I entered hell. I'm right there with you," he said, low.

Arya winced, turning her face away from him. He was right. She was in hell, but there was no way he could be here with her. He did not know what this felt like. He did not know what drowning felt like. She felt the tears prick the corners of her eyes and hated her weakness.

She slowly stood from the table and walked away. She expected him to stop her, but he never did. Arya climbed back in her wet bed, throwing the wool blanket over her head, and drifted off back to sleep. Jon would not await her this time, but a darkness that she thought would never end.

This went on for several weeks. Arya would refuse to eat and Sandor would do the task for her. It did not matter what was upon the table. He would grab it and force her to eat it, and if she spit it out he would force more. She would curse and scream, yet he would never raise his voice. Arya would say horrible, hurtful things, but Sandor would act as though he did not hear her.

"I wish you would die," she spat at him one night, greasy chicken running down her chin. Sandor chuckled, bringing a chicken leg up to his mouth. "You are a hateful, evil man. You act like you know my pain, like you can save me. Someone like you? Someone who kills for sport! All that blood on your hands, I bet you've never felt bad for anyone you've killed. I bet you've never cried or felt guilt for any of them. You are just a dog, always have been. You are just a dog that follows orders cause you're too stupid to think for yourself. Yes, I hope you die!" She seethed.

Arya had said this and worse. She wanted to make him angry enough he either killed her, or to make him leave. Sandor did neither. He would listen to her rage at him without ever responding. This made her more angry. As each day passed she was becoming more and more aware of everything, of the pain simmering deep within her. She felt it trying to bubble up, trying to make her deal with what all happened. She was not ready for that, so she chose her hatred instead.

Sandor was sitting by the fire one night as she crept into the room. Her strength was coming back to her as time went on and he forced her to eat. She had awoken from a nightmare of blue eyes and a dragonglass dagger sliding into a chest. When the pain overwhelmed her she grabbed at her rage and held on to it for dear life. This was all Sandor's doing, and she would make him pay.

She crept up behind him, the dagger in her hand. She thought about using Needle, but Needle was Jon. She had not touched the sword since leaving Winterfell. The dagger was safer. When she was right behind him she raised the dagger above her head. She would kill him for sure this time.

Sandor moved so swiftly it momentarily shocked her and she froze. Sandor's foot hit her squarely in the stomach and it sent her flying back. The dagger fell from her hand and she hit the floor with a loud thump. Arya opened her mouth and sucked in a large breath, but her lungs refused to cooperate. Her stomach felt like sharp knives digging into her skin where his foot had made impact.

Sandor bent down and grabbed the dagger and walked towards her. She could only watch as he bent down, his knees pinning her arms to the floor. Arya hissed at the pain it caused. Her eyes widened for a moment as she felt the blade of the dagger at her throat.

"Is this what you want?" He asked her, whispering. "You try and kill me for the second time in hopes that I'll kill you in return? Do you want to die, girl?"

"Y—yes," she said, a tear streaming down her face and disappearing into her hair.

He looked disgusted, which made Arya feel guilt for some reason. "You're weak. You're weak and you disgust me," he said, moving the blade from her neck and standing. He walked away from her towards the window and stared out. Arya picked herself up off the floor, biting her lip to keep the sobs from exploding. Slowly, she walked back to her room and disappeared into the darkness once more.

Sandor had been with Arya a total of four weeks now, and out of those four weeks she had not fed herself once. It was her one act of defiance. It was the fifth week when she charged at him one night. He had just stuffed more broth, this time clear broth, down her throat. She had waited until he sat back in his chair before grabbing the table and pushing it over with a loud scream. She lunged for him and they both toppled over his chair onto the floor.

Arya punched him everywhere she could make contact. She felt the meaty part of his cheek make contact with her fist and it drove her for more. She aimed her knee at his groin and let it fly. She heard his sharp intake of breath and smiled passed her fury. She had no time to bask in her triumph when he grabbed her and threw her off of him. Her back hit the wall, knocking the breath from her lungs. Arya roller on her stomach, slowly rising to her knees. Sandor was still on his back, his hands holding his groin.

"Ahhhhh!" She screamed, launching herself at him again. He had finally snapped something within her. She felt it the moment it snapped, as if it were a string on a bow. Colors floated in her vision. Blue. Red. Purple. Orange. She screamed all of her fury and pain and she flew at him again.

Arya got one good punch in before he grabbed her by the throat and held her away from him. Her airway was shut off, but she didn't care. She knew only one thing… her rage. Her pain. She knew only one thing. She wanted him to bleed.

Sandor slammer her against the floor and climbed on top of her. His hand squeezed harder causing her eyes to bulge. "LET IT GO, ARYA" he screamed right in her face. His eyes blazed as big as hers, and for one fleeting moment she thought he would surely kill her. Her hands, which had been beating against Sandor's hold on her neck, fell limply at her side. Her eyes rolled back into her eyes and she passed out.

When she came to, the sun had replaced the moon outside the small window. Sandor had left her there on the floor surrounded by the broken table. She turned slowly on her stomach, her throat on fire. She felt the skin of her throat and knew it had swollen from their fight. When she tried to swallow it was like trying to get a large ball down a small straw. She crawled towards her room and pushed herself onto the bed. When she looked to where her weapons had been they were all gone. Sandor had finally grown a brain, she thought, as she fell back into a deep sleep.

Again, she found herself back into a bright field, again laying on her side facing Jon. His touch felt so real, so warm. She could even feel his breath upon her face. Her eyes fluttered close, a small smile pulling at her lips. When she opened her eyes again a new face looked at her. Gendry lay beside her, his eyes filled with hurt.

"Arya," he breathed.

It was her that reached out this time. She touched his face, so very different from Jon's. "I'm sorry," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Arya, wake up," he said, louder… rougher.

Arya came too with a slight jerk. The moment she did her throat burned with pain. She grabbed it, swallowing hard. The lump in her throat had grown overnight and now it was almost impossible to swallow. She turned her angered eyes towards Sandor, who was standing over her. His face showed the signs of their fight last night. There were claw marks running down the good side of his face, and the skin around his left eye was darkening.

"You've slept for days and you're starting to stink again. The bath is ready… choose wisely," he said.

"Fuck you," she whispered hoarsely.

That was obviously the wrong answer, for he jerked the wool blanket off of her and grabbed her. She fought him every step of the way. She screamed and cursed him with all the strength she had. Why could he just not let her drown in her numbness? Did he not see she did not want to be saved? Did he not see she was dying inside and out and that was how she wanted it? He was fighting a battle he could not win.

Arya was ready this time when he not so gently threw her into the bath water. What she was not ready for was the ice cold water. Where it had been hot before it was not bone biting cold. She came up with a loud gasp, her arms wailing all about her.

"I hate you!" She screamed through her raw throat. "Just kill me, please! Why can't you just kill me!" She cried. Her tears mixed with the cold water as she trembled.

Sandor bent down beside her, the anger in his eyes melting away. For a moment she saw something worse in those eyes. She saw a deep pity. For just a moment she saw how much he pitied her, and that pity stung her worse than any anger could.

"I won't kill you for the same reason you didn't kill me when you had the chance all those years ago. When I was at death's door you refused to end my life… why?"

Arya shook fiercely with more than just the cold water. "Cause I wanted you to suffer," she answered.

"Liar," he accused. "What was the reason! You could have made me suffer worse than I did. What was the reason, girl?"

Arya thought about that day she left Sandor to die. He had begged her to kill him like she was doing to him now. She had stared at him, contemplating her choices, when a truth was revealed to her that long ago day. It was the reason she stood up and walked away, leaving him to fate.

"Because I hoped that you would survive it," she whispered, her tears coming faster.

He nodded once at her and stood. He walked to the door and stopped, but didn't turn. In a low voice he said, "Just like I hope you will survive this, but you gotta fight, girl… fight like I did."

That night, after Arya pulled herself from the cold water and changed clothes, she sat on the floor in front of Sandor. The table was in shambles in the corner of the room. Before her sat hot soup. It was probably the only thing that she would be able to get down her swollen throat. Sandor watched her, waiting to see if he would have to intervene, but Arya picked up the bowl and took small sips. They ate in silence. Arya even cleaned up afterwards.

When all was settled, she walked towards her room. Sandor sat with his back to her, his eyes staring into the flames of the fire. She opened and closed her mouth several times, but could not find the right words to say, or to even know what she wanted to say.

"How do I survive this?" she finally asked. Her voice was so low she was not sure he even heard her. He made no movement to show he heard her, so she began to walk to her room again, but before she could leave the room he spoke.

"You face it. You come face to face with what happened and you realize you survived. You accept that what happened was not your fault and you come to terms with your loss. Jon is gone. You open yourself up to that truth and you let it consume you. You cry every day. You scream every day. If you have to break everything in this place you do it just as long as you allow yourself to face the truth. He isn't coming back, but you can. You wake up every day and do what you need to to survive. And one day you'll wake up and realize you don't need to cry today. You'll realize you don't need to scream. You'll realize that breaking things won't bring him back. One day you'll wake up and realize you can live again. And you'll do it the next day. And the day after. You'll do it for the rest of your life. The loss will always be there. His absence will always be felt, but you'll realize to live was the gift he gave you. You will cherish that gift one day. One day.."

Arya did just that. Every day for six months she woke up. The loss of Jon consumed her and she screamed. His absence in her life overtook her and she cried. Everything she touched she broke. It was if she was an addict trying to break her addiction. Everyday she awoke the pain and devastation was there, her body shaking from the insurmountable depth of loss. There were even some days when Sandor still had to feed her or bathe her. One particular day she had thrown a chair at him. He was forcing her into a bath and she refused. She had punched him and he had slapped her. Tit for tat. She wore his bruises as he wore hers. It was a battlefield from day one.

Sandor did not just throw her into the icy water, but held her down in it. Every time he pulled her up, Arya gasping for breath, he would scream at her.

"You think you're the only one who knows loss?"

Dunk and come up for air.

"Everyone who lives long enough knows how the heart breaks! Everyone has lost someone, girl!"

Dunk and come up for air.

"Fight! Fight, Arya!" he screamed.

Dunk and come up for air.

When she came back up she grabbed him around the neck, their faces inches apart. Her eyes were clear for the first time in six months. Sandor froze, seeing something within the depths of her eyes he had not seen since he arrived. He saw the warrior, saw the girl he remembered from long ago.

"I—I want to live," she said, spitting out water.

"What?" He asked.

"I want to live," she repeated.

"I can't hear you, girl. You got water in your mouth. Speak up!" he growled.

"I WANT TO LIVE!" she screamed from the very depths of her soul. Her scream vibrates all around them long after she had stopped speaking. She knew damn well Sandor had heard her the first time.

She punched him as hard as she could and scrambled out of the bathtub. He grabbed his chin, rubbing his affected skin, but a smile crept upon his face. He turned and watched her storm out, the smile growing.

That night when Arya dreamed of the bright field it was Gendry she dreamed of. Jon was nowhere to be found, but Gendry laid with her. She breathed in his scent, memorized the way the sun shone upon his face. He whispered things to her she would forget about when she woke up, but she would not forget the peace she felt for the first time in six months. The pain and loss was still there, but something else was growing. A longing. Some itch she could not scratch.

Days later, for the first time, Arya walked into the small living room where Sandor was and sat down across from him. They watched one another without a word for a long time before Arya spoke.

"W—what happened after I left Westeros?"

"It was over before it really began. Theon Greyjoy defeated his uncle and the Golden Company, who Cersei hired, belonged to him now. Them, combined with our forces, were too much for Cersei."

"Is she dead?" Arya spat, angered.

"Yes. Stabbed in the heart by her brother Jamie Lannister. They said a woman's name was on his lips as he killed his sister, but it wasn't Cersei's name," Sandor said, shrugging.

"Good," Arya whispered.

"I guess you can mark her off that list of names you got. Hers and my brother."

Arya looked up sharply from staring at her hands. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at Sandor. "You killed the Mountain?" she whispered.

Arya saw a shadow pass his face, a look of sadness in his eyes mixed with hatred, "Killed him? He was already dead. I just finished the job. Daenerys was named queen. Theon was given the Iron Islands after it was found that his uncle had murdered his sister. Jaimie Lannister was given Casterly Rock, while Tyrion stayed as Hand of the Queen. Your cousin will keep the Vale. Sansa… Sansa was given Winterfell."

Arya nodded, "In a way it was always meant to be hers. She will be a good Lady of Winterfell."

"Gendry was given Storm's End."

Arya's eyes widened. "She gave him the home of the Baratheons?"

"She made him a Baratheon. She asked him to bend the knee to her and he did. She legitimized him and now he is Lord of Storm's End, heir to Robert Baratheon."

Arya felt her heart flutter, felt heat rise to her head. She had had many dreams about Gendry in the last few months. His memory was slowly breaking through the fog of her mind. This news only made that memory grow.

"I'm happy for him," she said, low.

Sandor grunted with a nod. Everything had righted itself in Westeros. They had their true queen with an heir on the way. She was not surprised about this, for she had seen the future and the king sitting on the throne. Jon's son, a voice whispered. She closed her eyes, pushing the thought aside. She was, however, blindsided by the news of Gendry. Gendry Baratheon, no longer a bastard. He would carry the name.

Another month passed. And then another. Arya and Sandor had been together for nine months now. Every day of those nine months she had cried. She had screamed. She had broken just about everything in the small quarters they shared, and Sandor had allowed it all. Most of the time he stood off to the side as she had one of her episodes. Each day was the same… except for one unremarkable day in late August.

Arya had awoken, ready for the tears to fall, but they never came. She walked into the living room realizing how hungry she was. As she made her a plate of fruits and small nuts she waited for the need to scream. It, too, never came. When she saw Sandor come join her she knew she would want to break something, but her head remained calm and at peace.

"I was thinking about getting out of here for a while, taking a walk. These walls are starting to get too small. You're welcome to join if you want," Sandor said, his voice nonchalant.

"I'd like that," she responded, surprising herself.

Truth was, she was sick to death of being cooped up inside. She wanted to feel the sun on her face. She wanted to feel the wind through her hair. She wanted to feel… alive.

They walked the length of the city, listening to the sounds and laughter all about them. When they came to a large bridge, Arya stopped and looked into the sky. Her eyes closed, and for the first time in nine months she felt a calming peace. The sun blanketed her with its warmth as a sweet smelling breeze blew about her. She realized this was what Sandor had been talking about. Living with the pain. Living with the loss. It was there, would always be there, but she was alive.

Later that night, Arya fed herself and even bathed herself, before finding herself in front of the fire. Sandor sat beside her, his large frame almost engulfing her small frame. They had sat there in silence most of the night, but she did not mind. As she watched the flames soar and crackle her mind thought of Jon. She waited for the breakdown, but it never came. She thought about his smile, thought about his touch, and she smiled. He had given her the gift of life, and she had wasted it. Her smile fell when she thought of this. His sacrifice had been in vain until this moment. Guilt washed over her and she swallowed it down. She made a promise to him, to herself, she would never take his sacrifice for granted again. She would live, for that was what he wanted.

"How did you find me" Arya asked, sometime later that night.

"He was watching you. When he saw what you were doing to yourself he sent word to your sister. She called a meeting with me and Gendry. The boy begged to come, but I knew it was supposed to be me. I knew how hard it would be and he would never have done what was needed."

"When you say 'he' you mean the Three Eyed Raven." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," he answered anyway, quietly.

Arya felt her hatred for the Three Eyed Raven as if it were something tangible she could hold. He had deceived her. She had come to terms with what had happened, but she would never come to terms with his role in it. Her hatred would always be there.

The next morning, Arya awoke from her dream. Again, it had been Gendry and not Jon in the bright field with her. She had called him Gendry Baratheon for the first time and he had smiled. She woke up with his smile still burned into her memory. She stared at the table beside her bed, the one where her weapons used to be, and saw something puzzling. She slowly raised her head, her brow furrowing in confusion. Large stacks of parchment sat on her bedside table and she grabbed one. When she opened them she gasped. Her hand reached for another and another. All of them were from the same person.

Arya jumped out of bed, grabbing an armful and hurrying into the living room. Sandor looked up from where he was sitting and stared. He did not seem surprised by the large amounts of parchment in her arms.

"What is this?" She asked, accusing.

"You can read, I assume."

"Gendry," she said, throwing one on the ground. "Gendry… Gendry… Gendry," she repeated, each time throwing another on the ground, until she dropped the whole stack.

"I swear that boy has sent a raven every day for the past nine months," he said, chuckling.

"You kept them from me," she stated, angry. "How dare you."

Sandor slowly scooted to the edge of his seat, his eyes boring into her. "What would you have done nine months ago if I would have handed you a letter from that boy? You were so lost in your own misery you would have spit on that boy's love. Do you have any idea how much that boy loves you? And here you are broken by another man's death. Yeah, I hid them from you until the moment you were ready to read them. Until the moment you were ready to see what's fucking right in front of you." Sandor stood and walked towards her. He stopped and pointed to the parchments on the floor, "That is what's in front of you. A living, breathing person, who after everything you've put him through still loves you more than anything in this world."

Sandor walked out of the room leaving Arya in silence so consuming she felt it penetrate to her soul. Guilt washed over her as she realized Sandor was right. She had forgotten Gendry. She had allowed herself to forget everything but the pain and loss of Jon. Her hands shook as she picked up every last letter. Arya walked towards the seat Sandor had been in moments before and started with the first parchment sent nine months ago.

For the next few months, Arya read every letter he sent. The letters kept piling up, because Sandor was right. He sent one to her every day. She saw every emotion in those letters. She saw his anger towards her for what she had done by sending him away from Winterfell. She read his forgiveness for that as well. She read his love for her with each word written. His excitement at becoming legitimized and taking over his family's home. His desperation at getting her to come home, him begging her in every way he knew how to beg. His love for her again. Over and over he made her cry. He made her feel guilty. He made her smile. He even made her laugh.

Arya had no idea when her thoughts began to change, but she would wait for the raven to come with his letter. It became the highlight of her days. Nine months changed to ten. Ten months changed to eleven. Eleven months changed to twelve. A year had come and gone with Arya waking up and battling her demons, but the letters from Gendry gave her something to hope for. She began to rely on those letters more than she realized. Sandor would give her a knowing look, but she would be too absorbed in Gendry's letter to care. She read them by the fire. She read them in her room. She read them upon the bridge as the sun shone down upon her. Her center of gravity began to shift from the loss of Jon to the words from Gendry. She realized she would forever live with losing Jon. She would always have a hole in her chest where he resided at one time. She knew without a shadow of a doubt she loved Jon more than was conceivable, but there was another she loved as well. She always had. She knew she would even have to fight to live some days, but her mind began to piece itself back together.

Fifteen months after losing Jon, Arya found herself sitting by the ocean. Tears swam in her eyes, but a small smile kissed her lips. She had done it. She had survived. It both broke her heart and mended it all at once. In her hand she held the newest letter Gendry sent her. He was leaving Winterfell to take over Storm's End. He was moving on, living his life, and Arya was glad for him, but she felt a worry nag her heart. She knew she was at a crossroads in her life. It's the reason she sat out here alone. She had a choice to make. She could remain in Essos living for every letter Gendry sent her. Or, she could go home and reclaim her life. A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away. It really wasn't a choice at all, but she knew she would have to make it.

"Jon," she whispered, her lips trembling.

On this particular day there had not been a single breeze in the air, until that moment. She felt it building around her, felt it gain momentum, until it slammed in to her. The breeze hit her with such force she was pushed back. She felt it go straight through her soul, and years later she would think upon that moment and know she heard what she heard.

"Live."

Arya's eyes shot open, but there was no one there. She stood, searching around everywhere, turning in every direction, but there was not a soul around. The voice, it came through the breeze. How, or why, she was not sure, but there was no doubt in her mind she heard it. "I hear you," she said, a tear slipping down. She had heard his voice upon the wind. Jon's voice. He told her to live… to go home.

Sandor was standing at the window, no doubt watching over her from afar. When she walked in they locked eyes. Whatever he saw within her eyes made him sigh, as if in relief.

"Let's go home," she whispered.


	29. Chapter 29

Arya touched the shores of White Harbor weeks after leaving Essos with Sandor Clegane. When her foot touched the wooden harbor she gazed around her. People were going about their lives, a light mood surrounding their walk. It was a far cry from when she left all those months ago. She was home.

Sandor nudged her in the back and she came out of her slight daydream. She moved out of his way, allowing him to take the lead. They walked towards a tavern, and as they entered she heard the hearty laughs of the inhabitants. They drank and sang songs, toasting the new peace that had swept across their land.

Sandor and Arya took a table in the far corner away from most of the larger crowds. He ordered them chicken and mead, and as she waited for her supper she listened to their songs.

"The Long Night has come. The Long Night has gone. We stand on the edge of peace and we sing a new song. Our Targaryen queen sits on the throne, her dragon strong and true. From her belly our new future grew. Born a boy, his hair as black as night. His eyes of pale lavender, he will be our light. His father gave his life, a pact sealed with his final blow. So, raise your glass to this hero, a hero named Jon Snow."

Arya flinched the moment that name was spoken. She watched as all in the tavern grew silent and raised their glasses in the air. Their salute to Jon lasted for what felt like forever before they yelled in triumph. She felt that odd sense of emotion creep over her, one she had not felt in months. That complete sense of loss.

"We can leave if you want," Sandor said, low.

His voice broke through her pained thoughts and she turned to look at him. "No… I'm fine," she responded.

It was good the people remembered Jon, remembered the sacrifice me made. She wanted them never to forget it was because of him they were able to cheer. It was because of him they had their peace.

Their supper came and both Arya and Sandor ate in silence. Luckily, she did not have to endure any more songs. The tavern had a festive feel to it, and she allowed herself to focus on that feeling, instead of the words which seemed to still echo around her. Sandor had several helpings of chicken while Arya nibbled on her one piece. She had been thinking a lot on the trip back to Westeros. Where was her place now? Where did she fit in? For weeks she had contemplated these questions and more. She thought of home, of Winterfell, and what would be awaiting her there. Was the Three Eyed Raven still there? Would Sansa welcome her back with open arms? Everything had crossed her mind, until late one night she realized she already knew what she needed to do.

"I never thanked you," Arya said, some time later.

Sandor was nursing his third mead, and his eyes shifting to her over his cup. "Thanked me for what?" he mumbled. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting away from her.

"Thank you," she said, softly. "This was the second time you saved me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he answered.

Arya slightly smiled, though it was a sad smile. Sandor was not the type to take compliments well. She wondered for a brief second if she would ever see him again after today.

"I won't be going with you to Winterfell."

His eyes looked up sharply, a look of confusion within them. "What?" he said roughly.

"You did as my sister wanted. You got me back home, and I am safe now. I am not completely okay… I—I do not know if I ever will be, but I am better than I was. Sandor…"

"You can't go back," he said, finishing her sentence.

Arya shook her head. "No. I cannot go back to Winterfell, not where…"

Her eyes shifted to the shadows upon the wall and grew distant. She had thought long and hard about what it would be like to go back to Winterfell. To go back to where she had lost Jon, had lost so much. Arya had tried to find that feeling of home again, but all she felt was the darkness when thinking of Winterfell. If she went back it would consume her. She would not make it out alive a second time.

"Makes sense," Sandor said, leaving it at that.

She looked back at him, her thanks shining through her eyes. "Will you tell my sister I am okay now? Will you tell her I will send a raven when I get to wherever it is I am going?"

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She had also thought long and hard about this question as well. There was only one place in her thoughts, one place that held no memories that would threaten to sink her.

"I heard Storm's End is nice this time of year," she said with a chuckle.

Sandor joined her, shaking his head. "I'm sure it is. Yeah…" he sighed. "I'll tell you sister you're okay now."

Arya stood from her seat, hesitating a moment. She would miss Sandor more than she was willing to admit. He had been her anchor for many many months. Now, she would have to learn to walk on her own again.

"See you," she said, her voice small.

"See you," he responded, and she could have sworn she heard his voice crack, but Sandor was not the sort of man you would ask about such things. She nodded her head and walked from the tavern.

After buying a horse and several things she would need on her journey, Arya left White Harbor behind her. For the first time in sixteen months she was on her own again, but this time she knew exactly where she was going.

In the months it took her to get to Storm's End, she passed many people on the road. They would greet her openly, their smiles growing on their faces. Arya would stare at them, as if they had grown two heads. She only had memories of the roads being a dangerous place. Now, though, they felt differently. Pretty soon, she found herself nodding, and even sometimes saying hello, to the people she passed. Very odd, indeed.

After weeks and weeks of traveling she finally looked upon a large castle sitting atop a high cliff. From here she could hear the ocean beating against the rocks, could hear the spray of the waves. Storm's End.

Arya felt her heartbeat against her chest, felt a sudden flurry of nervousness. What if Gendry did not want her here? What if his letters were his way of saying goodbye? If she was not meant to be at Storm's End she would carry on with her journey. Perhaps, she would make it as far south as Dorne. First, she had to know if this was where she should be.

As she rode through the small village on the road to Storm's End, the people going about their day stopped and stared. Some even covered their mouths, whispering words Arya could not hear from her horse. Banners flapped in the high breeze surrounding the road, a sigal of a proud House. One that was thought to be all dead and gone. Yet, the stag of House Baratheon flew once more.

Before her was a large door, impenetrable from the outside. Upon the door were more markings of the stag. There were soldiers atop the battlements overlooking the small village and the road Arya travelled. The Baratheon armor was linked around every chest. Arya marveled. This House was not dead. It was alive and thriving.

"What brings you to our door, Miss?" a man called from above her.

Arya looked up into the sun, her hand raised to shield her eyes. "I have come to see your Lord, sir. Have my long travels been in vain?" she asked, fearing Gendry was not even here.

"No. Lord Baratheon is home." Lord Baratheon. Arya still could not believe Gendry was a lord, or that he was even a Baratheon. To her, he was still the armorer's apprentice from Flea Bottom. "May I ask the name of the one who calls upon him?"

"Arya Stark."

"Open the gates!" the man yelled, with haste.

Arya's horse backed up, spooked by the sudden movement of the large doors in front of them. She petted it's head, shushing it's fears. "We do not have anything to fear here," she whispered.

When the door opened several men waited. She rode her horse forward, and when she came inside they helped her down. The men bowed to her, welcoming her to Storm's End.

"M'lady," a man said, bowing. He had been the one to greet her first. "Forgive us for not recognizing you."

"There is nothing to forgive," Arya said.

"Follow me, m'lady. Lord Baratheon will be very pleased to see you."

Arya followed the men as they led her up a large cobblestone walkway. From inside the walls of Storm's End Arya could hear the ocean better. She could smell the sea salt upon the air. The castle that now belonged to Gendry reached into the heavens, it's dark beauty overwhelming. The castle looked as though it had been birthed from the large cliff it sat upon. She remembered the stories people told about Storm's End. She remembered the stories talking of Durran Godgrief and his love Elenei, daughter of the sea god and the wind goddess.

Their love and marriage had enraged the gods and they sent the waves to destroy everyone Durran loved during their marriage ceremony. For this, he declared war on the gods and built castle after castle, one being larger than the others, but the gods destroyed them all. It took him until his seventh castle, with the help of someone who remains in the shadows of lore, to finally defeat the gods. The castle, which Arya beheld with her own eyes, was the result. Storm's End was born.

Arya was so caught up in her memories of stories of gods and castles she did not notice when the soldiers took a different course away from the large wooden doors of the castle. She kept walking, her mind a million miles away with Durran and Elenei.

"M'lady, he will not be in the castle at this time of day." Arya came to a sudden stop, slightly shaking her head. It felt as though she was in a daze, and when she looked at the soldier he wore a knowing smile. "They say the magic is strong here. It pulls you to the castle," he said, a soft smile upon his lips.

Arya took one last look at the castle, fighting the urge to walk within its walls and feel the safety she so longed to feel. She tore her eyes away, and followed the soldiers. They lead her off to the side. She got her first glimpse of the ocean and froze. Her eyes went wide. Large waves crashed upon the side of the cliff, bowing deep and splashing almost to the top. The sounds were louder, deeper. The power she saw from the ocean took her breath away. The gods were still angry.

"Lord Baratheon will be hard at work in the forge. This way, m'lady."

Arya turned and saw a huge building, smoke coming from its roof. "Of course he would," she whispered. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

She followed the soldiers until they disappeared inside, but she hesitated for a moment. What would it be like seeing Gendry after all this time? After all that had happened? Would he choose to be angry with her? Would the pain of the past be too much for the both of them? All of these questions and so many more fluttered through her mind as she finally stepped inside.

Men were hard at work on their anvils. Their heads were bowed low, their eyes watching their work closely. The room was stifling as heat radiated from fires. There was a small gathering ahead of her where the soldiers walked, and it was there where she got her first glimpse of Gendry. His back was turned to her, but she would have known him anywhere.

One of the soldiers leaned in close and spoke into his ear. Whatever the soldier said got Gendry's attention immediately. His head jerked around in her direction, and she finally saw those blue eyes she had known so well. They had not changed, and neither had the feeling of home they always made her feel. She saw his lips move, even if she could not hear his voice, she saw him say her name. The hammer dropped from his hand onto the floor and he took a few steps towards her.

His eyes were wide as he stared at her, his mouth opened in surprise. Gendry stopped, his eyes never leaving hers. He was waiting for her, she realized. He was waiting for her to make the move towards him. She took him in, his face and his body. Though his clothing had changed from a lowborn to a Lord he was still the same Gendry. His face looked battleworn, his eyes not as bright, but he still was Gendry. No amount of highborn clothing or horrible war would change that.

"Hello, Gendry," Arya greeted.

"You're here," he said, so low she almost missed it.

Arya slowly walked towards him, cutting the distance. It was all Gendry needed to see as he walked towards her as well. The met somewhere in the middle of the forge and Arya threw her arms around his neck. Gendry grabbed her, crushing her to his body and breathing in her smell. She could feel his body slightly shake, or maybe that was her own body. She was not sure.

As the men in the forge watched, Arya and Gendry held to one another as if the ocean would break through any moment and sweep them away. She felt the pressure of his lips kiss her head. His hold on her tightened.

"This is not a dream," he whispered, over and over.

Arya could not answer him. Her throat felt as if it were closing, a lump forming. She shook her head, holding him tighter. No, this was not a dream. She was here.

After what seemed like forever, Gendry leaned back and looked at her. Tears swam in his deep blue eyes as he smiled at her. His knuckles lightly touched the side of her head as his eyes roamed every part of her face.

"You must be extremely tired after your travels," he said, softly.

"Exhausted," she admitted, with a chuckle.

"I have your rooms ready. I'll have supper and a hot bath brought up for you and then you can rest."

"My rooms?" she asked.

He nodded. "You have an entire floor only for you… if that is what you desire. Rest, and we will talk when you are not falling asleep in my arms," he said, laughing softly. Arya was amazed at how happy he looked in that moment. She could only imagine how horrible she looked, but his eyes told her a different story. They told her she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.

Gendry took Arya by the hand and led her from the forge towards Storm's End. He had not been joking. The entire top half of the castle had been forbidden to anyone else. He took her inside a massive room with mahogany furniture lining the walls. A large ceiling to floor window stood open allowing the sun to shine through the room. Below, the waves reached towards them. When Gendry hurried to close the window, Arya stopped him.

"Please… leave it open. I like the sound of the ocean," she said.

He smiled and came back to her, his hand touching hers once more. He led her towards a large bed made for five grown men. Atop it sat the softest sheets she had ever touched. Her body relaxed at the mere feel of it. Arya tried to hide a yawn, but it burst forth. She chuckled, embarrassed.

"Sleep," Gendry said, softly. "We have all the time in the world to talk." He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment. He finally released her and walked towards the door. "If you need me I'm here. Whatever you need, Arya, it is yours," he said, their eyes meeting once more.

With a nod of his head, Gendry left her to the sounds of the ocean and the feel of the soft sheets. Arya peeled herself out of her days old clothes and climbed inside the hot bath that had arrived not long after Gendry left. She had ate her feel of warm buttered bread and roast beef. She soaked her dirty arms and legs in the rose scented water and sighed. She crawled in bed naked, the sheets mending to her skin. In moments she was asleep.

Arya awoke in darkness. Outside her open window a lightning bolt lit the darkened sky. It lit up the room and beside her bed she saw Gendry sleeping in a chair. He looked most uncomfortable, but he slept soundly. He was keeping watch over her. His mouth hung open in a soft snore, which made her softly smile. She stared at him until she fell back asleep.

When she woke again, the sun was shining once more. The chair Gendry had been occupying was empty. Arya sat up, searching the room. To her right was a large armoire, which sat half opened. She could see clothing inside, and her curiosity got the better of her. She climbed out of bed and wrapped the sheet around her naked body. When she opened the armoire fully she gasped.

Her hands touched the fine fabric, and when she pulled a shirt and long pants out she realized the clothes were her size. She chuckled when she realized there was not even one single dress. She was wrong though. Something caught her attention in the far corner and she pulled the dress out.

An acorn dress.

"Stupid, bullheaded boy," she whispered, shaking her head. He remembered the acorn dress, the one she was forced to wear the first time Gendry had said she looked nice. Arya slid her hand down the dress and back up, the memory playing in her mind. It seemed like another lifetime ago. She put the dress back in the armoire and got dressed in a simple shirt and pants.

"M'lady," a woman said, bowing. Arya walked down the long hallway of the castle not knowing where to go.

"Excuse me, can you tell me where to go to find Gen—Lord Baratheon?"

"Follow me, m'lady," the woman said.

Arya followed her down the long hallway towards a set of long stairs. By the time she made it to the lower floors Arya felt as though she had run a race. The castle was far larger inside than what it looked from outside. How would she ever learn her way around?

The woman led Arya into a large room filled wall to wall with books. The room was circular and in every corner there were large windows. Arya walked in, her eyes growing wide as she took in the room.

Gendry looked up from his desk, standing immediately when he saw Arya. She would never get used to the sight of Lord Gendry Baratheon. He wore a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Around his neck lay a necklace of white gold with a stag hanging from the end. His strong legs were encased in black fabric that hugged his every curve. His black hair was swept back, his beard cut short. His blue eyes sparkled.

"Arya," he breathed, walking towards her. "Thank you, Liana. I'll take it from here," he said, not looking away from Arya.

Gendry led her to a large couch that stood in the middle of the room. Light shone down upon the brown fabric from a round window in the ceiling. Arya sat down, sinking into the couch comfortably. It was so comfortable she felt she could sleep right here. The couch dipped beside her as Gendry sat down. There was a noticeable gap between them, even as he lay his arm lazily over the head of the couch.

"You look well," she stared, softly.

"Nobility suits me, huh?" He said, playfully.

Arya smiled, nodding. Yes, it really did. "I guess I should be calling you m'lord," she said, teasing.

Gendry let out a hearty laugh at her joke. The memory floated between them in the large room. She had punched him for calling her m'lady. It was funny how things could come back around on a person.

"Never," he said, getting himself together. "I'll always be just Gendry. I just have a few more responsibilities now."

Silence fell upon them, their eyes staring at one another. Arya was the first to look away. There was so much she needed to say, so much between them. They could laugh and reminisce about the past, but that would never change all that happened between them. To them.

"You knew I would come back," she whispered.

Arya could not look at him. She could not see the emotions she knew were there. She knew more than anything that she had hurt him more than anyone. He could smile and brush it off, but she knew she would see the pain deep in those blue eyes. She was not ready for that.

"No," he answered low. "I prayed every day you would come back."

Arya's eyes slid close. "There was a time I did not think I would ever come back to Westeros. I know I can't go back to a Winterfell."

"I understand," he said, reaching for her hand.

"No," she breathed. "No, Gendry, you cannot begin to understand. The things I've been through, they have changed me. I do not know how I am sitting on this couch."

She looked at him then, looked at him through her tears. She needed him to understand. She needed him to see that she was not the girl he remembered. She had holes. She had demons that whispered into her ear every waking moment. She had a memory of a man that haunted her.

"This could be a mistake," she mumbled.

"You are alive. You are here. That is no mistake. Do you see this place around you?" he asked. Arya looked around her, again overwhelmed at Storm's End's enormity.

"When Queen Daenerys offered to legitimize me I did it for one reason. I took my family's home for one reason. I filled the entire top of the castle with furniture and clothes for one reason. I did it hoping and praying for the day you would come home. I know what happened. I have come to terms with it. I have forgiven you, Arya."

He pulled her hand towards his lips and softly kissed her knuckles. His lips were soft and warm upon her skin. "I cannot promise you anything," she said, defeated.

He slowly looked up at her, love bleeding from his blue eyes. "That is okay. You owe me no promises. This castle and everything I have is yours for as long as you need it. I will never push you, never expect anything but your friendship. I have missed the girl who protected me as I protected her. Her happiness is all that matters. If the day comes that you have to leave I will not stand in your way. But, if there ever comes a day where you need me as more than a friend it will be yours as well. No matter what, Storm's End is your home, Arya," he whispered.

Arya blew out the breath she was holding. A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. Gendry would not push her. He would allow her to find her own way. It was all she could ever hope for. Arya shifted closer to him, his arms opening for her. She laid against his chest, breathing in a scent that was just his. His heart beat against her chest, a sound signifying peace… home. His strong arms came around her and for the rest of the morning Gendry held Arya in silence as she re-introduced herself to the feel of him around her.

 **A/N:** hello peeps! We have one more chapter before the epilogue and then the story will be done. There are a few more… surprises in store! I'm actually gonna finish this story before the final season… yay! I want to thank everyone who has read this story and stuck with it. I know I've made some of you furious, but I hope you will finish this journey with me!


	30. Chapter 30

Hours turned into days. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Arya found peace within the walls of Storm's End. She found a quietness within the crashing waves and the storms that rolled over the Stormlands. It was as if they took the darkness from within her and pushed it into the sky in the forms of the lightning. She could breathe again, though it had taken her two years to get to that point. Two years since She drove dragonglass into Jon Snow's chest and changed their lives forever.

Arya wished she could say that everything was okay, but there were nights that her mind would remember. The nights when everyone in the castle would be asleep she would be wide awake and looking out into the massive ocean. On those nights she fought against the pain. On those nights her demons would come for a visit. But, Arya had grown stronger over those two years, and when she felt that pit of darkness open underneath her, she would take out Gendry's letters and read them. His words stitched her to reality. In the eight months she had been at Storm's End she had never told him what took place at night.

Gendry was true to his word. He never asked more from her than she could give. He held her some times, would kiss her forehead, but he never pushed her. In their silent moments together is where Arya felt herself mending. In the moments their eyes met without words she felt the demons grow quiet, as if confused by this force stronger than they were.

He gave her space. Arya was allowed to roam the castle, the grounds and the village freely without escort. Gendry had told her one night he did not fear for her safety. He chuckled, saying the person who would think to attack her was in more danger than Arya could ever be. She had smiled at this, feeling proud that he thought she was able to handle herself.

She had met the people of the Stormlands, had walked beside them many days as they showed her their homes and surrounding lands. She listened to their stories of the past, of the present. Some, she even knew by name now. They had accepted her as their own, this girl from the North. It had been so long since she truly had a place that felt like home. Eight months had changed that.

Arya was sitting in Gendry's study, underneath the ceiling window reading a book of the Baratheon history, when a woman came in. Arya looked up, giving the woman a slight nod and going back to her book. The woman was over the castle staff, Ralaf was her name. She felt the woman's eyes staring at her for several minutes, until finally she had to look up.

When Ralaf met Arya's eyes she blushed and looked away. Her eyes did not stay away for long, until they were back to Arya. She could tell Ralaf wanted to say something, but whatever it was she felt might not be suitable.

Arya laid the book in her lap and gave the woman her full attention. "Hello," she called.

The woman slightly jumped, her eyes growing wide. She bowed awkwardly, her back popping. "Lady Stark," she said.

"Ralaf, correct?"

"That is correct, M'lady. I am over the castle staff for Lord Baratheon. If there is anything I can get for you please do not hesitate to ask."

"Well, first you can call me Arya. My mother was Lady Stark. My sister is Lady Stark. I am just Arya."

Ralaf smiled a gentle smile. Something passed over the woman's face, her eyes growing distant for a moment, as if she were lost in a memory.

"You look so much like her," the woman said, softly. Her eyes still held that far away look in them as she spoke.

"Who?" Arya asked. Her mother? Sansa? She really did not look like either of them. They had the Tully look, while she inherited the Stark genes. No one had ever told her she resembled her mother or sister.

"Lyanna Stark," the woman whispered.

This caught Arya by surprise. She had heard all her life how much she looked and acted like her aunt Lyanna, but those people were Northerners. Those people knew her aunt.

"Lyanna?"

The woman nodded her head, taking small steps towards the couch Arya was seated on. She slowly walked around and sat down, her eyes never leaving Arya.

"I knew your aunt Lyanna. I only talked to her once, but I was taken with her from that moment on," the woman said, smiling. Her smile was sad.

"I never knew her. She died before I was born. My… my father never talked about her."

Ralaf dropped her eyes to the floor, the sadness within them deepening. "I started out as King Robert Baratheon's wet nurse before I became his nanny and then as he grew older and became king I became the overseer of his ancestral castle. He was like my blue eyed, dark haired baby even if I did not give him life. I watched him grow. I watched him leave this place. I watched him grow close to your father. I watched him… watched him give his heart to your aunt."

"Tell me about them," Arya said, the need to revisit the past growing strong within her.

"Well, now let me see. I traveled with Robert to the Vale when he squired for Jon Arryn. It was not intended for me to stay for good, but they allowed me to go to transition the boy over to their nanny. He had lost his parents at a young age and he needed me more because of it."

Arya turned her full attention to the woman, getting comfortable as they fell into the past. Stories of her Aunt Lyanna were few and far between. She soaked up each word the woman had to say.

"She was a lovely girl, a bit on the wild side. Some called her strange and reckless, but she was none of those things. She was young and spirited, but she was smart. Lyanna wanted to find her own path and not have someone do it for her. She wanted to cut her own way, live in the moment, and I am sure that is what drew Robert to her. I dare say he loved her from the moment he saw her. I wanted to warn him that girls like Lyanna Stark would be very hard to capture and tame. He would hear none of it. He wanted her and there was nothing anyone could do," Ralaf laughed.

Arya smiled at the woman's laugh. She could relate to wanting to be free to make her own choices. Had she not, herself, rebelled against her father's picture of what her life would turn out to be? The woman's laughter died down and the smile upon her lips slowly fell. Sadness crept into her features, making the hard outlines of her age show more visibly.

"The night Rhaegar Targaryen stole Lyanna away he took a piece of Robert with him. The day she died that piece died with her. No matter what Lyanna ever thought of Robert, there was no denying that man loved her more than anything in this world. He changed the day he learned of her death. He spent the rest of his life trying to fill the void she left behind, and in the end that void was too deep. Life has a horrible way of reminding you how unfair it can be some times."

Arya looked away. She closed her eyes for a brief second as the truth of the story hit her. Rhaegar had not stolen Lyanna. She had gone willingly, and as a result Jon was born. She had chosen her Targaryen prince and the price had been too high for them both. For a moment, Arya thought about telling the woman the truth, but what good would it do? People tell themselves whatever they will to cope. She would not take that from Ralaf.

"And now you are here. Lyanna runs through your veins as strong as Robert runs through Lord Gendry. Some times, when I see the two of you together I shiver, as if I am looking into the past. It's as if history is repeating itself. The resemblance is uncanny in you both. Others have seen it too and whisper about the past righting itself once and for all. Robert lost his Lyanna, but perhaps they could live on through you and Lord Gendry. Perhaps a love doomed in one life will grow and see the light in another."

Arya looked down at the book in her hands. If the woman knew how close history really had repeated itself. Again, she knew she could not tell Ralaf. "Thank you, for the story. I always wished my father would have spoken more about my aunt."

"We all are so thankful you are here, Lady—Arya," she said, smiling. She patted Arya's hand and left.

The minutes rolled by as Arya sat in silence. Like Lyanna, Arya had known the love of a Targaryen and a Baratheon. She had loved them both without restraint. They had all suffered for it. But, history had not repeated itself. She was still alive, still breathing, and Gendry was right there. She needed only to reach out and grab him, but a part of her still was not ready. He deserved so much more than for her to settle. She had loved him enough to walk away. Now, she needed to love him enough to stay.

She closed the book, sighing heavily. There would be no more reading for her today. She walked the halls of Storm's End, making her way towards the Great Hall when she heard voices. Easing the door open she slipped inside.

A large crowd had gathered in front of Gendry and his table of confidants. She recognized the gathering for what it was, remembering when her father would hear the needs of his people. Now, Gendry took on that burden as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Arya watched from the back, marveled at how far Gendry had come. As he listened to every need, complaint and suggestion he was slow to answer, giving his words much thought. When he needed council he would ask for it. People would thank him for his time and be on their way. Their respect for their Lord was evident.

A man walked slowly towards Gendry's table. He visibly shook, his eyes showing fear. Arya watched the man's lips tremble. He looked as if he had not bathed in days, or eaten anything for that long as well. He bowed low, his body trembling more.

"Yoren Buckley, you stand accused of theft. The night before last you were taken into custody after it was found that you were stealing fish from our storehouses. How do you plead?" a man to Gendry's left asked, none too gently.

Gendry sat forward, his face stern. He looked every bit the Lord of Storm's End. There was no trace of the boy who grew up in Flea Bottom sitting at the table. Arya realized she could not look away from his handsome face. He wore the coat of his House over his body. The Baratheon crowned stag on a golden backdrop sat upon his chest.

"Guilty, m'lord, but let me explain," the man cried. He raised his face, a look of pleading in his eyes. Tears slid down his dirty face as he looked upon his lord.

"There is no need of explanation. You have pleaded guilty to the charge of stealing. Your sentence will commence immediately."

The sentence for stealing was the man would lose both of his hands. Without his hands he would not be able to work and he and his family would pay a dear price. Arya hated it.

"Please!" the man cried. Two of the soldiers grabbed him by the arms, but he fought against them. His screams for mercy echoed throughout the room. This was none of Arya's concern, but she felt moved by the man's tears. Without thinking, she stepped out of the shadows, her hands balled into fists. She walked like a lion stalking its prey towards the soldiers.

Arya stood in the way of the soldiers as they came to a halt when they saw her. Gendry slowly stood from his chair, a look of concern upon his face.

"Bring the man back to me," Gendry commanded. "I am the one who passes the sentences," he added, his sharp eyes turning to the man on his left.

When the soldiers did as Gendry commanded them, Arya relaxed, but she did not move away. She waited to hear what Gendry would say. They led the man back to Gendry's table and released him. The man fell to his knees, tears streaming rapidly down his face.

"You have stolen from our storehouse. That food is for people who need it, sir. Every fish you stole you took from the mouths of the people who need it the most. If you have a response it is best you tell me now," Gendry said.

"M—my boat. Two weeks ago it met its end in a storm. M'lord, it was the only source of income for me and my family. We have no money, no food or home now. I cannot pay what is owed. My young daughter has not eaten in several days. She's too weak to cry. My wife has lost all hope. I did what I did to save us. I am a desperate man," he said, his face falling to the hard floor as he sobbed.

The room fell silent, all but for the man's sobs. Gendry stared at the man's bent and broken body. When the man to his left tried to whisper something in his ear he held his hand up for silence. Instead, his eyes raised to Arya. They stared for what seemed like forever.

"What would you do in this situation, m'lady?" he asked, catching her off guard.

Arya looked around as every pair of eyes turned to look at her. When they saw who Gendry had spoken to they bowed their heads to her. She looked back at the man, looked into his pleading eyes, and thought about what her father would do. Suddenly, that did not seem right. Arya thought about what she herself would do.

"Lord Baratheon, while stealing is a serious crime is it not even a worse crime of what has happened to this man and his family? He has lost everything. His family is starving. Is not the items in the storehouse for people like him?"

"It is," Gendry answered, a smile growing on his lips. Arya realized Gendry was thinking the same way she was.

"This man should pay for what he has stolen, but not the old way. Put him to work. Give him a boat and allow him to make up for what he's stolen. After he pays his debts allow him to keep the fish he catches to feed his family and make a living. It is our job to take care of our own people now. No one should be hungry. No one should be punished for being desperate enough to steal to save their family. That—that is what I would do."

"General Musgood, get this man a boat and put him to work. You will pay back everything you stole and then you may keep all that you catch to feed your family. See to it that this man regains his home, and that his daughter gets the care she needs. Sir, this is your only warning. Steal from our storehouse again and I will not be as kind."

The man leapt to his feet. He shouted with joy and relief as he turned and ran towards Arya. She was ill prepared as he swept her up in his arms and twirled her around, laughing.

"Thank you. Thank you," he said, over and over.

He ran from the Great Room, Ser Musgood following him mumbling and angry. Arya moves from the man's path, his angered eyes boring into hers. She bowed to him, smiling. She did not like a man who would swing the sword before he knew the whole story.

"That was a wise choice, M'Lady."

Gendry was smiling broadly at her now. She turned fully towards him, watching him walk towards her with a swagger she had never seen in him before. "Your man does not think so."

"Musgood will be alright. He was used to running things before I showed up. The release of power has not been the smoothest at times. He is loyal, no doubt, but he sometimes forget I am a Baratheon now."

"I hope I have not caused you too much trouble," she said.

"Never," he said, softly. "Come with me," he said, taking her by the arm and leading her outside.

The sky was darkened with large rumbling clouds moving over them. Arya could hear thunder in the distance. A storm was coming. She could feel the electricity in the air.

She followed Gendry towards the forge. It was dark and empty when they walked inside, and she watched as Gendry lit a flame and picked up his hammer.

"You still work the forge, even when you do not have to. You are a Lord now, Gendry."

She watched him unbutton his coat and toss it aside. The black shirt underneath hugged his large chest. She felt hypnotized watching him unbutton every button, until it, too, lay on the ground. His skin was kissed by the sun, his muscles larger than what she remembered. He was beautiful.

"Some things cannot be taken out of a person. I am still the armorer's apprentice. I am most happy here. It gives me a chance to think, to be alone. Here, I can create something from nothing. I can shape it any way I see fit. I can make the steel sing."

Arya sat cross legged and watched him work. She had always loved watching him in the forge. It always felt as though it was just her and him alone in the world. Everything faded but the two of them. She watched his muscles flow under his tanned skin as his hammer did make the steel sing. Suddenly, Arya felt every bit of the girl she was at Harrenhal when she used to watch him work.

Gendry looked up at her, smiling. Sweat fell from his face. His blue eyes sparkled in the dim light of the fires. Arya realized she was smiling back.

"Come here," he said.

Arya stood and walked towards him, her face showing her uncertainty. He reached out his hand for her to take. Her small hand slid easily into his and he gently pulled her towards him. He slowly turned her towards the anvil and laid the hammer in her hands.

"I do not know what to do," she said, laughing embarrassingly.

"I will help you," he whispered in her ear. Arya shivered, her eyes closing for a moment. She was aware of everything, but nothing more than the heat coming from Gendry's body. His hand slid down her arm causing chills to erupt all over. He rested his hand upon hers, closing her small hands in his large ones. "Just make it sing."

Together, they raised the hammer above their heads and slammed it down upon the anvil. Sparks flew off the steel as Arya felt the hit travel up her arm. She shivered again, finding she rather enjoyed the feeling. Again, Gendry and Arya raised the hammer and hit the anvil. More sparks flew. She felt his breath upon her neck. She felt his body pressed against hers. Suddenly, she could not have cared less about the anvil and hammer.

Arya turned so suddenly she knocked Gendry back, but he recovered immediately and was pressed against her once more. The heat in the forge grew to heights so hot she felt dizzy. Gendry's eyes were hooded, his breath coming out in pants. Every breath he took she felt his chest draw closer and closer to her.

Her fingers softly touched the black hair on his chest, and she felt his breath hitch. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she knew he could hear it too. His arms around her tightened as her fingers continued to roam. She felt his muscles tighten and thought how very strong he was. Gendry could break her without a thought.

Behind her she could hear the steel make a strange noise. She took a quick look and chuckled. Whatever they were making was in ruins now. When she turned around to tell Gendry this she found his face inches from her own and realized she had forgotten how to speak.

I—it's ruined, she breathed.

"Nothing is ever ruined," he whispered, moving closer.

His lips were so close she could feel the heat from his skin on her lips, but before he could kiss her someone cleared their throat. Gendry pulled away at once as Arya looked to see who joined them. A man stood before them, bowing. He had something in his hands.

"Forgive the intrusion, Lord Baratheon, but this just came for you by way of raven."

Gendry stepped around Arya and took the parchment from the man. "Thank you, Lloyd," he said, though he sounded annoyed.

He opened it and read the contents of the letter. She watched his jaw clench and moved towards him in concern. Was it from her sister? Had something happened? Gendry crumbled the letter up and slipped into his pants before she could read it.

"What did it say?" She asked.

"Let's get back, shall we? Ralaf will have supper ready before too long and I need to get washed up."

Gendry grabbed his shirt and coat and walked towards the door. Arya watched him, watched how he walked as if angered or worried. Something in that letter had startled him. She kept quiet on the walk back to the castle, but the moment they entered her room she could not handle it any longer. She needed to know if there was a problem.

"Gendry," she said, stopping him before he left. He was at the door, yet he did not turn towards her. She knew then that something was wrong. "Is the letter from my sister? Has something happened? Something bad?"

Gendry finally turned slowly towards her. "No, it is not from your sister."

"What's wrong?" she asked, taking a step towards him. "What did the letter say?"

She held her hand out for him to let her see the letter. She knew it was none of her business, but his reaction to the letter bothered her. She would give him the option to show her or not. If he chose not to show her she would drop it. With a sigh, he took the letter from his pocket and handed it to her.

When her eyes scanned the words of the letter she wished she had not been so persistent. The letter was not from her sister. The letter was from King's Landing. They were throwing a tourney in honor of Prince Jon Targyren's upcoming nameday. The boy would turn a year old soon Arya's hands shook when she read his name. A vision of a man sitting on the Iron Throne danced in her mind. A man that looked so much like his father Jon.

Gendry took the letter from her hand, and as she watched, he threw it into her fireplace. The flames destroyed it immediately.

"Your queen asks for your attendance," Arya said, low. She would not have to go… thank the gods. But, as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands Gendry was not so lucky. He would have to go and be reminded of everything they had been through.

He turned to her, meeting her eyes. She watched him shrug and smile. "I've seen King's Landing. I don't really have plans to see it again."

Her eyes went wide. "But…"

"All that I want is here. If Queen Daenerys is furious with my absence she knows where to find me. I am not going anywhere," he said, walking towards her with each word he said.

Arya threw her arms around him, crushing herself to him and holding on for dear life. His arms went about her, his hold firm and true. She could hear his heart beating in her ears as she lay her head upon his chest. He would not go. He would not leave her. He would not have to be reminded of how she had hurt him so much.

The next day they sat across from each other and ate their fill of warm bread with honey, grilled tilapia, scallops seared in onions and stew. They caught each other's eyes several times, a matching smile playing upon their lips. Arya had been at Storm's End for almost a year. She had walked every part of the place with Gendry at her side. Peace had been her friend for much of the time.

"Are you happy here, Arya?" he asked, breaking through her thoughts.

"I am," she answered, giving him a small smile.

"If you could have anything right now to make you happy what would it be?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Where was he going with this conversation? "Well, there is one thing," she said. She had felt she was not contributing to anything. It made her restless some days. She needed to earn her keep. "A purpose," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"I thought that's what you'd say. I have actually taken care of that… if you're willing, that is."

"What is it?" Was she to clean and cook like the other women? That didn't seem to appease her at all.

"I'll show you," Gendry said, standing from the table. She stood and followed him. As they hurried through the castle she felt excitement sizzle in the air around Gendry. Whatever he had planned he was about to boil over with excitement. It was contagious and she started to feel excited too.

He lead her outside to the courtyard. When the group of men saw their Lord coming they stood at attention. Arya realized these were new soldiers of Storm's End. Their ages ranged from young to old, but they all looked strong. Their eyes were not looking at Gendry but at her.

Gendry pulled her by the hand until she stood before the men on her own. He walked around her and stood with his men, reaching down for a wooden sword.

"You want a purpose, and I need someone to train my men. Who better than someone who trained in Braavos. Teach them… teach me," Gendry said.

"You—you want me—me to lead your army?" she asked, her excitement growing.

"my army is yours, M'lady, as I am," he answered, a twinkle in his eyes.

For the first time in her life she was looked at as more than just a lady. This broke every rule society put on her. She waited for the joke, waited for Gendry to snatch this chance away from her, but he never did. The men did not look at her in disgust and anger, but as a leader.

Arya cleared her throat, her mind, from the overwhelming emotions of having a sword in her hands again… of having a purpose she could only dream if as a small girl. Gendry had given more than he could ever know. He believed in her enough to hand his army over to her.

She picked the wooden sword up from the ground, looking at it for a long time. It felt good in her hands. She closed her eyes for a moment, seeing the prideful face of Syrio Forel. When she opened her eyes again she was focused, turning her body to the side.

"First lesson… sideface and…" she hesitated. A small memory echoing in her mind. It did not make her sad, but made her smile grow. "Stick 'em with the pointy end."

Every day Arya practiced with the men. Gendry among them. He caught on quick, his body agile and strong. She taught them steps. She taught them the Waterdance. When they sparred with each other she walked amongst them, a part of them. She would right the wrong, correct their movements, until they could move on their own.

It was hard work, and Arya was not lenient, not even on Gendry. When he messed up she would correct him, push him harder than the rest. Sweat poured from them. Blood and tears poured from every body every morning in the courtyard, yet they all came back for more. Arya had never felt more alive. Pretty soon, they moved as one. They became a deadly force as the Braavosi history and dance flowed through their bodies.

Gendry made a good sparring partner to Arya. Their movements matched the other as they wove themselves effortlessly around each other. One particular day they moved so well it caught the attention of the others. They all stopped and watched them. Arya was not aware of anything but Gendry. She watched the way his large body moved with ease, becoming small for her. She marveled at how well he learned. He had taken this seriously. He had taken her seriously. She was able to deal the final blow upon him, but it had been the hardest sparring she had ever done. Gendry had become her equal.

It was after that day she found herself in his study. Her body ached and groaned, yet she relished the feeling. Not since her days in Braavos did she feel as satisfied as she did in that moment. Gendry hobbled into the room, his hand rubbing his back. When she saw him she burst out laughing. He walked towards the couch she was sitting on and fell down with a groan.

"The Lord Paramount of the Stormlands yields, m'lady."

She patted his hard stomach and he groaned again, making her laugh harder. "I did try to warn you."

Gendry smiled at this. He grabbed her hand from his stomach and brought it to his lips. He kissed her softly, reverently, as if he were afraid she would break. Arya felt her heart speed up, felt her breath hitch in her side.

"The aches and pains have been worth it to see the light in your eyes again," he said softly.

Arya's smile slowly fell, a deep emotion pushing its way out of her soul. She slowly pulled her hand from his lips and stood from the couch. Taking a few steps away, she kept her back to him. Guilt flooded her so swiftly she felt as though she had jumped from the window out into the ocean. Gendry had been so kind to her over the past year. He had taken her in, had asked nothing from her. Against his own feelings he had offered her the one thing she needed… his friendship. He had given her a purpose again. Yet, she felt this aching guilt, because she knew what she had put him through. She had broken his heart more times than she could count, yet he was still here.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, looking back at him. Tears pricked her eyes, making it hard to breathe. "For everything I've done to you. I—I do not deserve any of this," she said, pointing to the walls around them.

They had avoided this talk for long enough. It seemed each time she wanted to truly apologize to him someone interrupted. Not tonight, though. Tonight she would beg his forgiveness if she had to. She would make him understand that she knew how horrible she had treated him.

"Do you love me, Arya?" he asked, gently.

She did not answer at first. The tears escaped her eyelids and slid down her warm cheeks. She felt vulnerable before him, but she would not hide. Not this time.

"Yes," she whispered.

She did love him. She always had loved him. When she thought he had died all those years ago it had torn her apart. When he had come back to her that part of her that was just for him had awoken. Over the past year that part had grown even more. The girl who fell in love with a lowborn bastard from Flea Bottom was fighting through the darkness back to the light. She knew it the day in the forge when they had almost kissed. But, she knew she could never give Gendry all of her. There would always be a part of her missing, a part of her in the Land Of Always Winter. He deserved better.

"You deserve more than my love," she said, her lips trembling. "You deserve more than what I can give."

Gendry stood from the couch and walked towards her. She stood as still as stone as he leaned in and kissed her forehead, his lips trembling themselves. He walked past her towards the window. She turned and watched him, waiting for him to speak.

"I have forgiven you, Arya. The truth is I am the one who needs your forgiveness."

Arya gasped. "You have done nothing wrong, Gendry."

He slowly turned to look at her. The moonlight shown through the window giving him a haunted look. She could see tears of his own swimming in his beautiful blue eyes.

"Will you allow me to say this without interrupting me?" he asked.

She nodded her head.

"You say I have done nothing wrong, but the truth is I have caused all of this," he said, moving his hand between himself and Arya. "You stood before me that night and bared your soul to me. With tears in your eyes you said you wanted to be my family. You believed in me even when I could not believe in myself. And I sent you away for it. I spit on your love for me in that moment and hurt you more than I can even imagine. I saw it in your eyes. You have always treated me like a victim in this, Arya. But, that cannot be further from the truth.

Gendry quickly wiped at his eyes as Arya watched him with wide eyes. She remembered that night. Remembered how it had torn her apart. He did not want her, she thought.

"I have played that moment over and over in my mind for years. Every time in my mind I say what I should have said then. You are my family. You are the only family I have ever wanted. I do not care that I am lowborn. When I'm with you you make me feel like a King. That is what I should have said… but I didn't. I let you walk away."

"You were taken away. You did not leave me," she whispered, not being able to stay quiet.

"And what did I do when I was freed? Did I come for you? Did I burn the world down looking for you? No, I slinked back to King's Landing and made armor for the Lannisters. I should have fought. I should have torn down every part of the world in search for you, to tell you I was wrong."

"I do not blame you," Arya said, taking a step towards him.

"You should. I handed you straight to Jon. Because I did not fight for what was truly mine I handed you straight to him… my enemy. My failures allowed you to give your heart to another. Arya, do you not see that you have done nothing wrong here. You fell in love with Jon, because he did what I refused to do. He let himself love you. He let himself be worthy of you. He would have burned the world for you… and he did."

"Gendry…" Arya sobbed.

"I do not want to replace Jon in your heart. I will never be able to do that, and I have come to terms with it. I have come to terms with the fact a part of you will always love him and miss him. But, to blame you for that would be wrong. But, there is a part of you that loves me. I have seen glimpses of her lately."

Gendry had almost walked towards Arya, but he stopped. She knew she would have to walk the rest of the way. She would have to close the distance that had been between them all this time. Did she have enough strength to do that? Did she love him enough to let the past die? To let her future be his and his alone?

"I cannot replace the love you have lost, but if you allow me to I will spend the rest of my life building the love I know is in there between us. I will give you a good life, Arya. I will love only you for as long as I breathe. I will make you laugh and make you angry. I will even make you cry, but I will be there to wipe the tears away. I will take you as you are… broken and all. I can be your family," he whispered.

Arya sobbed, slamming her eyes closed. She found herself at another crossroads. She could play it safe and live the rest of her life in this abyss of nothingness and memory. Or, she could take a leap of faith for a man she did truly love. She expected to see Jon's face behind her closed eyelids, but she saw nothing but darkness. Was it possible to love two people at once? Was it possible to be two sides of the same coin? Was it possible to write history anew again, and this time make it right? There was only one way to find out.

Arya slowly opened her eyes, seeing Gendry standing close to her. Tears ran down his face, a look of longing in his eyes. "I don't want to be your family," she whispered, broken.

Gendry took a step back, as if she had slapped him. His eyes went wide, tears streaming down. "I—I understand. I am still so sorry," he said, almost in a daze. He turned from her and walked slowly towards the door. He meant to leave her.

"I want to be your lady," she called to him, making him stop instantly. Gendry turned towards her, his eyes wide with hope. "I cannot always promise it will be easy, or that you will not regret this, but if you will let me I'll spend the rest of my life loving you… my lowborn bastard."

Before Arya could even breathe Gendry was there. He ran towards her, taking her into his arms and finally kissing her. She threw her arms around his neck, holding him as if her life depended on it. She kissed him back, feeling the familiar way his lips roamed over hers. Everything about this man was familiar to her, and it calmed her at once. Their future was not always going to be easy. They would have bumps and bruises along the way. There would be dark days and light days. There would be fights and love making. But, whatever came their way they would face it together.

In the hallway a lone figure watched them. Tears blurred her vision as she watched the two people hold one another with all their strength. She thought of her sweet Robert. She thought of the lovely Lyanna Stark. The one thought playing over and over in her mind was this… a doomed love in one lifetime can find its way and light into another.

She thought the same thing the morning Lord Baratheon finally married his Lady Stark in front of Storm's End. On that day there was not a cloud in the sky as the sun shone down on all who witnessed the joining of House Baratheon and House Stark.

 _To be continued..._

 _Seven years later… (The pact has chosen another name)..._


End file.
